


Gavin Reed Oneshots

by Dicax_Asina



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Aka you’re the Android, And also some healthy relationships, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brotherly Love, But that’s a secret so shhh, Coffee, Doesn’t know how to feel about it, Find a lotta those in these oneshots, Fluff, Gavin and Elijah as kids, Gavin and Elijah as teens, Gavin as a livestreamer, Gavin feels shitty about himself, Gavin finds an Android on the streets, Gavin has a cat, Gavin has a crush on you, Gavin interrogates you, Gavin is sick, Gavin might have a blood kink, Gavin’s easily embarassed, Gavin’s past, Gimme all of that pls, Halloween Special, Hanahaki AU, He gets the love he deserves, Love and acceptance is what it’s all about, Multi, Pillow forts with the bestest boi, Smut, Soulmate AU, Soulmate Tattoos, They just bond over their horrible parents, Vampire AU, We also got some slow dancing, You mess up Gavin’s but that’s okay, and also a, and you like it, don’t @ me on this, gavin plays the guitar, lazy mornings in bed, thigh hickeys, you take care of him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-08-07 21:35:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 39,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16416395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dicax_Asina/pseuds/Dicax_Asina
Summary: In which our garbage boy gets not only redemption, but also the love he deserves.Enjoy various scenarios with the one and only Gavin Reed.





	1. Snowfalls to lift the mood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gavin doesn't think very highly of himself. You know just the thing to lift his mood.

You found the bed empty, and the clock on your nightstand displaying 2 AM in glowing, red numbers.

Immediately jumping to your feet, running your hands through your hair as you padded through Gavin's apartment, nothing but the sound of your feet creaking against the cold wooden floor. Your boyfriend was nowhere to be found.

You started off by looking for him in the bathroom, following that up with the living room, and finally, the kitchen.

And that was where you found him: staring out the window absentmindedly, still in his pajamas, but with that leather jacket he always wore draped across his shoulders. The air was chilly, and you saw snow falling outside. Thick cigarette smoke was dissolving into the thin, cold winter air above him.

"Gav?" You asked, voice raspy and slow, still tranquilized by the aftermaths of sleep.

His shoulders tensed as he rushed to put out his cigarette by crushing it against the windowsill.

"(Y/n)." He stated, taking a deep breath before looking at you over his shoulder. "What, uh, what are you doing here?"

You knew of his late night thinking sessions - he had admitted to being an insomniac after your seventh or eighth date. But you had never actually witnessed one of said events, not even after two months of living together. This was a first.

"I found the bed empty and wanted to check on you. Are you alright?"

You could see him bite his lip before turning away from you, mumbling one of his classic 'phk'-sounds under his breath.

"Guess I needed to think." He admitted, voice sounding somehow strangled. "You should go back to sleep."

"Well, I'm already here." You mumbled and moved to stand beside him, propping your elbows against the windowsill, mimicking his position. "So can I join?"

Gavin only smiled fondly and shrugged off his jacket. He draped it over the two of you so that it covered half of your back and half of his.

You cuddled against his side, staring at the peaceful snowfall outside. Many argued that summer was the most beautiful season, but winter...winter was so much more than that. Especially in Detroit, where the usually grey streets got changed into an angelic, pure white, with the neon lights of the city reflected against the virginal surface.

You heard Gavin sigh beside you, a small cloud of steam rising from between his lips. Which reminded you...

"Why were you smoking?"

"That's um, the snell is because of the neighbor from below. He smoked here just a minute before you c-"

You picked up the residue of his cigarette from the windowsill and presented it to him with a cheeky grin. "You'd think being a detective would make you better at hiding evidence."

"Sorry." Gavin sighed once again. "I know I promised I'd quit. It's just...ugh, phck." He avoided your gaze, staring at the streets outside as he seemed to be thinking, looking for a better way to word his next sentence.

"Hey, don't beat yourself up over it." You took his hand in yours and intertwined your fingers, then rested them on the windowsill. Your boyfriend gave your palm a soft squeeze before letting go. "Quitting stuff like that was never easy."

"Still, I mean...there's no excuse. You don't deserve this kind of shit." He bit his bottom lip, still not daring to look at you.

"What's that supposed to mean?" 

"I'm not everything I was trying to be." He admitted, running a hand through his hair and grunting before rambling on. "And you deserve someone that is. Someone that's not an asshole, and that stays true to what they promise, and that's actually successful in whatever the fuck they're doing. Someone that can offer you more. Not some sad loser that only-"

"Gav." You spoke up, interrupting him. "I chose you, okay? I know I can't change the way you see yourself, but you're not what you think you are. Not to me."

His brows furrowed deeply before he turned to look at you, biting his lip as soon as he did. "Holy shit, stop."

"Stop what?"

"Stop always saying the right thing." Gavin placed his fingers under your chin, tilting up your face. His intense gray eyes watched yours for a few seconds before moving downwards to stare at your mouth. Tentatively, he brushed his thumb over your lower lip. "Fuuck, what did I ever do to deserve you?"

"This isn't about deserving." You put your hand over his, tracing a over a scar on the back of his knuckles you already knew far too well. "I love you and it's as simple as that."

He went silent for a few seconds, his lips parted as he processed your words. Gavin's eyes could only focus on the floor as his cheeks saturated with a soft red.

"Shut up, that's so cheesy." He said with an amused huff, then wrapped his arms around your waist. His jacket fell off the both of you as he pulled you closer. Your hands were cold, and you instinctively placed them on his chest, warming them with the heat that radiated through the old shirt he wore.

Gavin's breath fanned your lips before you closed your eyes and slid your hands up his collarbone and neck, cold against his warm skin. A soft tremor went through his body at the temperature. Finally, your hands reached the back of his nape, burying themselves in his hair. You pulled him even closer, if that was humanly possible, so that the tip of your nose brushed against his.

Your boyfriend was more impatient than you, feverishly pressing his lips against yours only seconds after. He didn't waste any time in his approach, nibbling your bottom lip softly. He tasted like tap water and cigarettes, with a soft touch of coffee. 

Gavin was greedy for contact, and you were more than willing to provide: placing one hand on his cheek to stroke it with your thumb, burying the other in his hair to pull at it lightly, and finally, hooking one leg around his hips. Gavin grabbed the end of your thigh to hold you against himself, his hips starting to rock against you languidly.

The last bit of air from your lungs drained at his movements, leaving you no other choice but to break the kiss. Thankfully, your boyfriend wasn't doing much better either, his breath ragged and fast.

"Hey, Gav?" You spoke up, your fluttering lashes tickling his cheek as you blinked dreamily.

"Mm?" He asked, his voice low and raspy.

"Wanna go outside and have a snowball fight?" Taken aback by the question, his brows furrowed as he analyzed your face to find out if you were joking or not. Upon realizing that you were serious, a devilish grin found its way onto his lips.

"Hell yeah."


	2. Mark My Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everyone gets a mark on their 18th birthday that reveals the first thing their soulmate will tell them after they become of age. Gavin's birthday is just around the corner, and you, as his best friend, plan on celebrating this special day with him.

Only 20 minutes ago, you had received a text from your best friend stating that you should come over to his place. So that's where you were: in Gavin Reed's backyard, searching for him, however ending up disappointingly fruitless. He wasn't anywhere in the house, or at least that's what his mother had claimed. And the garden was just as empty.

"Gavin?" You raised your voice, stepping over the mowed lawn and looking around. Your best friend was, however, nowhere to be seen: not beside the barbecue, not sitting at the small table in the middle of the small garden, nor on the rocking chair in the far right corner.

He wasn't planning on running away on his 18th birthday, was he?

"Gavin?" You asked again, louder this time. The old treehouse in the far left corner of his backyard suddenly emitted an old, wooden creak, which caused you to approach it. You hadn't seen the poor thing in years, and not because you hadn't been at Gavin's often (because let's be honest here, you had), but because after the two of you had turned 14, you opted for spending time with him in his room rather than in the cramped space of his old treehouse. "Gav? Is that you up there?"

"Nope, it's Santa Claus." Came the prompt, playfully sarcastic answer from above, which caused you to squint and look upwards.

You heard his energetic steps stride over to the entrance of the small house. Gavin sat down at the edge, letting his legs dangle off the wooden planks. He gave you one of his typical, cheeky smirks.

"Very funny." You responded in the same tone, then raised an eyebrow skeptically. "What're you doing?"

"Come and see for yourself." He motioned for you to approach him, which was easier said than done.

You rolled your eyes and started climbing up the string ladder, making your way up to him.

Once you were on the last step, Gavin was kind enough to offer you his hand for support, pulling you into the cramped space. The wood below you emitted a painful, high-pitched creak at the sudden addition of weight.

Once you were inside, you couldn't believe your eyes: your best friend had changed the interior drastically. The old, clumsily built wooden floor was nowhere to be seen as he had covered it with what you recognized as one of his old carpets, he had scattered pillows all across the room, and set up a coffee table in the middle of it. The setup was simplistic, yet had a certain charm and coziness to it.

"Well?" Gavin interrupted your thoughts, his voice sounding strangely hopeful yet uncertain.

"Holy shit." Was the best thing you could manage. "You did this?"

"Well, uh, mom helped out a little, but yeah." He explained, playing with the hair on the back of his nape. "I thought it'd be nice to...I don't know, to set that childhood mood? For the sake of nostalgia I guess."

"This is honestly one of the most thoughtful and wonderful things you've done."

"Wow, thanks." He answered dryly.

"Don't be like that, birthday boy, I was joking." You punched his shoulder lightly, then trotted over to one of the pillows, sitting down on it. 

Gavin stayed silent, standing in the middle of the room, cluelessly staring at you before joining you.

"Excited?" You asked with a soft, understanding smile.

"You can bet your ass I am." He answered energetically, however his tone faltered a few seconds of muteness later. "I mean...all this soulmate shit is just... I don't know."

"What could possibly be bad about finding out who your soulmate is?" You skeptically raised an eyebrow, watching Gavin sit down beside you. He leaned back into the pillow with his arms crossed over his chest.

"There's shitty parts too." Your best friend answered nonchalantly. "Like you remember Chris, right? One of my friends?"

"Chris Miller? Or that other Chris?"

"Miller." Gavin clarified, his brows furrowing involuntarily. "On the night he got his words, it wasn't what his current girlfriend first said. She got super psyched up about it."

"Shiiit." You bit your lip, setting your hands on your thighs and taking a deep breath. "Good thing you don't have a girlfriend. Or boyfriend."

"Oh shut the fuck up." Gavin answered sharply. "I'm keeping myself for my soulmate."

"Really? Because I remember you drooling all over Jenna back in 11th grade. Oh, and Alex from 10th. Not to mention your painfully obvious crushes on-"

"Shut uuuuup!" Gavin groaned and threw a pillow at you, which was enough to silence you. For the moment. "My point was that...what if my soulmate is gonna be really underwhelming or some shit?"

"Considering your low standards, I wouldn't exactly-"

"Oh my God, one more word about my love life and I'll ban you from this treehouse!"

"What're you gonna do? Put up a sign that says 'no (y/n) allowed'?"

"You know what, fuck you. I'll put one up that says 'No assholes allowed'."

"So you're banning yourself?"

Another pillow was promptly thrown at your face.

-

You were laying on your stomach, kicking your legs up and down while staring at the small clock Gavin had put up on the wall.

"How much longer until midnight?" Your best friend asked, scrolling on his phone, occasionally throwing a glance your way.

"Like, uuuh, seven minutes." You mumbled, laying your head on a pillow and sighing.

"Fuuck." Gavin put his phone down, then ran his hands through his hair, staring up at the ceiling. He puffed air into his cheeks, then moved to lay on his side to look at you.

"Don't tell me you're nervous." You raised a brow, holding back a whimsical smile.

"You'd be nervous too!" He retorted a tad too defensively, then corrected himself. "I mean...come on, this whole thing it's just...life-changing. Like, all I've ever known is gonna change."

"You'll still have me by your side." You smiled sympathetically, shifting to lay beside him, face to face. Normally, you'd find such intimacy borderline bothersome, but when it came to Gavin, neither of you minded. You had been best friends since middle school, after all. If there was one word you'd use to define what home felt like, it'd be him. "No matter what."

"But...what if my soulmate is like a control freak? Or really annoying? Or hates me? Or all of tho-"

"Gav, it's called a soulmate for a reason." You giggled at the fact that his brows furrowed even further.

"I guess." Gavin grunted and tapped his fingers against the carpet, another gesture of his that signalized that he was preparing to say something more thought-consuming than usual. You decided to make it easier for him and ask him about it straight up.

"Tell me." You whispered.

"Tell you what?" He blinked, having been ripped out of his thoughts, then gave you a quizzical look. 

"What you were thinking about." You gestured to his still restless hand. He followed your gesture, realizing what you meant. A small blush of embarrassment appeared on his cheeks for just a few seconds.

"Fuck, you read me like a book." He smiled bitterly.

"You say it like it's a bad thing."

"What if my soulmate's gonna hate...you?"

That really hit you hard. You hadn't actually considered that, ever. Your bond with him had, over the years, become something so natural, so self-evident that you couldn't even imagine your life without it. Without walking with Gav to the bus station every morning, finishing the first class without silent glances that were borderline telepathic, the two of you communicating in inside jokes fluently. But the thought of Gavin abandoning you for someone else...he was the person you trusted the most, your home, your comfort. It was as if a bare necessity, hell, even a part of you had been ripped away.

"Shit, Gav." You bit your trembling bottom lip, taking a deep breath. Something deep, heavy, yet unbearably numb and empty settled in your chest, like the ache after a sucker punch. "I never-"

"Yeah, no, fuck it. Let's make a deal." He interrupted you, that certain bold, sharp edge in his voice evident. 

"What deal?"

"If my soulmate is shit, and yours is too, we'll replace them. We'll be each-other's second-hand soulmates."

His words soothed the deep rooted-pain in your gut. And you couldn't help but hold back a sympathetic smile.

"Deal." 

"Fuck yeah." He grinned back at you, and you couldn't help it. Maybe because he looked a little too cute with that five o'clock shadow, or he was smiling a bit too brightly, or just that he was Gavin. Your sweet, endearing asshole of a best friend. So you reached out, pulling him into a forceful, loving embrace that was accompanied by blissful laughter on both sides.

You ran your hands up and down his clothed back, and Gavin couldn't help but hold you closer, until a flinch went through his body.

"Aah, shit, my shoulder!" He whined, placing a hand on his back. "Fuck, it stings."

You knew far too well what was happening. Sudden pain, stinging, and a quick glance to the clock on the wall confirmed it all. He was getting his mark.

"Oh, shit, it's happening! My boy Gavin about to get some mad pussaaaay!" You blurted out, unable to hold back a grin.

"Shut up, it hurts!" Was your best friend's only response as he had slung a hand above his head to press at his left shoulder blade. Seconds later, he finally relaxed, relief washing over his face.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, I think it's done."

You frantically rose to your feet, walking around Gavin and grasping the hem of his shirt, tugging at it excitedly.

"Then take of your shirt, damnit, I wanna see!"

"Okay, Jesus, hold your horses." He grasped the back of his clothing article and pulled it over his head, presenting his back to you.

His mark was fresh, the skin around it a light, painful pink, the letters jet black and cursive.

"What does it say?" Gavin asked, craning his neck in a hopeless attempt to read it himself. You were much faster, laying a cold hand on top of the skin, which caused him to exhale in relief.

Focusing to be able to make out the letters, you squinted your eyes at the writing, almost choking on your own saliva once your eyes skipped over it.

Oh, shit, it's happening! My boy Gavin about to get some mad pussy!

"Oh my God, I-"

"What, what does it say?"

You broke out in childish, loud giggles, forcing out a half-hearted "I'm so sorry Gav."

"What? (Y/n), for fuck's sake, just tell me what- oh no. Nononono. Please tell me it does not say 'My boy Gavin about to get some mad pussy'."

"I'm really, really sorry."

"You ruined my soulmate mark, damnit!"

"But I am your soulmate." You retorted cheekily. He stared at you, eyes wide and mouth hanging open.

"Holy shit, you're right." That only earned a few seconds of silence before Gavin turned around to face you, his annoyance slowly fading into dreamy adoration. "Fuck, you're my soulmate! You're my phcking soulmate!"

He enthusiastically lifted you in his arms, holding you against him by your thighs, gluing his forehead against yours and smiling like a madman. Warmth, fuzzy and deep inside your abdomen was ignited as you couldn't help but laugh too.

You couldn't believe it-all your worries had been solved in a matter of seconds. Every single insecurity and reluctance, replaced with nothing but utter bliss. Gavin Reed was the person you were going to spend the rest of your life with. You wrapped your hands around his neck and melted into his oh-so inviting embrace.

"Hell yeah, we're soulmates."


	3. Look beyond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which you go for a nighttime walk on the beach, making an unexpected discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: “Catch me if you can” by EDEN

The beach had something about it, you had to admit that. Maybe it was the soft sand, the breeze, the sounds of crashing waves, or the dry smell of saltwater. At night, it was even more bewitching than usual- the wind would, as if by magic, blow the other way, towards the sea, as if it were urging the waves to stop and rest, like a mother soothing her children. The sand wouldn't burn your feet because of the scorching sun, instead, it invited you to bury your toes deeper, a cold, yet feathery embrace around your soles, softer than any shoe existent.

The beach at night was something else, and that was final.

Perhaps that was why you found yourself waking up in the middle of the night, putting on nothing but a tanktop and shorts and deliriously stumbling out of your hotel room, towards the shore.

Quite expertly for your still sleep-influenced mind, you managed to navigate through the array of sun-beds. You finally got to where the waves tentatively brushed over the sand, then retreated back into the sea, like a lover's reluctant touch that ached for more contact, yet was deathly afraid of actually taking it.

You smiled, dipping your toes into the soaked sand, squeaking when the waves enveloped your ankles, the temperature almost electrifyingly cold. Bliss.

Guitar chords, velvety, faltering, so silent that you almost thought your imagination had made them up, began playing.

The sound wasn't unwelcome at all, in fact, it made you close your eyes, tilt your head back and smile. Whoever it was playing the guitar, you were more than thankful for the extra ambience it added to your current experience.

It wasn't until they started singing that you grew curious about who exactly it was.

"Of course I'm scared.  
Would I be thinking straight if I wasn't?  
Of course I'm scared, sometimes." A male voice, somehow familiar, yet somehow invitingly unknown, warm, comparable to melted caramel. The singer stopped for a second, as if to gather his thoughts.

You were almost afraid of disturbing the idillic silence. It was something sacred, fragile. You kept your eyes closed, not daring to look. Not yet.

"Even if I say it don't phase me  
Or if I say I'm not hazy  
But drowning ain't so bad  
'Cause at least you know where you're going  
And we're all future bound  
So I guess that's really the same thing." He continued, the reluctance in his voice dying out, replaced by calmness. Only then did you manage to gather enough courage to open your eyes and look over your shoulder, at the sun-beds.

And almost stumbled into the sea when you recognized who exactly the guitarist was.

None other than Gavin Reed, one of your workmates at the precinct. You had never directly interacted with him, mainly because your cases were drug-related while he was working in the homicide department. Though you had heard...quite a lot of things about said man, and a big part, if not quite frankly all of them weren't exactly positive.

Yet here he was, casually sitting on the edge of a sun-bed, guitar propped up on his left leg, lashes hooded, only peeking at the fretboard when he changed chords. A small smile tugged on his lips, and that was when you realized you had never seen Gavin Reed look this perfectly peaceful.

Reluctantly, you stepped closer. Maybe because you wanted to hear him better, or because this was a once in a lifetime opportunity, you couldn't exactly tell. All you knew was that carefully inching closer felt like the right thing to do.

"But I always liked the thought of maybe being a runaway,  
I could be your lover and you could be my heartache.  
I could sing the songs that we used to sing when we were kids  
Maybe that could bring us back to before we got stuck in in that place." 

Gavin bit his lip to conceal the satisfied smile that settled on his lips, languidly stroking the guitar strings with the fingertips of his right hand. With a soft sigh, he stopped, eyes fluttering open.

Immediately catching sight of you.

His left hand clenched around the fretboard, already sharp jaw tightening. "Shit." Gavin muttered under his breath.

Before you even had time to react, he was already packing up his guitar, cacophonous sounds of its strings accidentally hitting against the material of the guitar bag because of his hasty movements.

Not really thinking about what you were doing, you stepped between detective Reed and the sun-bed he had propped up his guitar on.

"Hey, wait, wait!" You grabbed a hold of his forearm, in a hopeless attempt to stop him from packing the instrument away. His gaze found yours, focusing on you, cold fear and embarrassment in his eyes. "That was...really nice."

Gavin's quick breaths were the only thing you could hear for a few seconds, before he forced out a confused: "What?"

"Your song. It was pretty. I liked it...?" You talked in short, half-assed sentences, hoping to get your point across clearly. Truth was, this was as embarrassing for you as it was for him.

"You have no proof."

Now you were the one to be confused.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"No-one will believe you, you have no proof of me doing...this." He gestured towards his guitar. 

"Wait, who said I wanted to blackmail you?" You furrowed your brows, processing what exactly he mean- Oh. Oh. Gavin Reed was afraid of losing his bad boy reputation at work? Now that said thought formed in your head, it almost sounded laughable. Like some teenager that pretends to be cool in front of his friends, or a secret agent leading a double-life, Gavin fucking Reed was actually worried about his name getting besmirched. You didn't know which one sounded worse, honestly. "You cannot be serious."

"Fuck you."

"Hey now." You shook your head dismissively and shrugged. "I really wasn't planning on saying anything, but now that you're being such an asshole to me..."

"I swear to god, if you even-"

"What if you teach me?" You interrupted him, concealing your anxiety with charm and cheekiness.

"What?" He was clearly taken aback by the fact that his intimidation act had no effect on you.

"You could teach me to play a song. I'll promise to shut up if you do."

The inner conflict Gavin had was literally readable in his expression. His hesitance, frustration, denial, and finally, after a deep crease formed between his brows and he shook his head, how he gave in.

"Ugh, fuck. Fine, sit down."

Smirking in victory, you did as he asked, settling down on the edge of the sun-bed. Only then did you realize your mistake, and the lack of stability said sun-bed had. Which was, by the way, a tad too late to actually react.

Gavin was fast enough to catch the guitar he had rested against it by the fretboard, and you were left to fall face-first into the sand.

A wolfish chuckle rang out above you.

"I gotta hand it to you, you really know how to lift the mood, (l/n)." He placed his foot under the sun-bed and lifted it slowly, to allow you to crawl out from below it. While Gavin was also kind enough to offer you a hand to help you stand up, you were proud enough to refuse it.

"Shut up." Now, you were the one to shoot back snarky answers.

"This is what people call karma." He added with another satisfied smirk, then sighed in contentment. "Still eager to learn?"

Did he think that was enough to drive you away? Hell no, if there was one thing you knew about yourself, that was how damned stubborn you were.

"You can bet your ass, Reed."

With more care this time, you repositioned yourself on the sun-bed, so that it wouldn't fall over again. Gavin only plopped down next to you.

"Spread your legs." Gavin instructed as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Was this man serious?

"Oh, wow." You sneered.

"I'm serious, spread your legs. And hold the left one a bit higher." He pat your left knee, then stood up again, crouching in front of you.

"I thought you were better than some sort of sad, horny teenager, but hey, looks like I was wro-"

"Do you wanna learn how to play the phcking guitar or not?" He bossed, then took the instrument out of its case, flipping it around to fit in your arms.

You could only grunt and oblige, getting your left leg on the tip of your toes as he had instructed. Seconds later, Gavin placed the guitar in your arms, the wooden shape fitting perfectly. You hadn't ever thought it'd actually feel this comfortable to hold an instrument.

Ripped out of your slight wonder at the guitar, you flinched when Gavin grabbed a hold of your wrist and guided it to the thin neck-like structure of the instrument. "Left hand goes here. This is the fretboard. It's where you press down the chords." He explained, not looking you in the eyes. Gavin's features were soft, and so were his movements as he guided you. It was wonderful to see him like this again. Gentle, somehow vulnerable, and not frowning for once. He seemed to have caught onto your staring, grey, stormy eyes suddenly darting upwards to meet yours, then quickly returned to your right hand, which he had accidentally started fiddling with. "Uh, right, right hand goes here, over the strings. The stroke for the song I was playing was a bit more complex, but I'd recommend you use the simple downward stroke for the sake of not fucking up."

After his quick explanation, Gavin dedicated his attention back to your left hand, positioning your fingers into a chord you didn't understand the name of.

"You're really good at this." You mumbled out of nowhere, interrupting him.

Gavin only continued staring at the chord he was trying to help you achieve, then swallowed thickly, his throat bobbing. "What? Teaching or playing guitar?"

"Both?" You tilted your head and smiled clumsily. 

"...Thanks." The detective grumbled. "U-Um, as I was saying, this chord is called F. Give it a try." 

He gestured to your right hand, and you quickly understood what you had to do. You moved the back of your nails over the strings, earning a deep, flat, dull sound from the instrument.

"Okay, no." Gavin paused, then shook his head in disapproval. "That was horrible."

"Oh, come on, this is the first time I've played a guitar!"

"Doesn't make it any less horrible." He answered, then sat down to your left, scooting closer, until his chin hovered above the crook of your neck. His breath was warm, a very welcome contrast compared to the ocean's breeze, and caused a shiver to crawl up your spine.

"What're you doing?" You asked, a lot more shakily than you intended to.

"Calm down, I'm not sticking a finger up your ass, I'm helping you play the guitar."

That was, quite possibly, the most stupid sentence you had heard in your life. But you found yourself giggling at it.

"That's disgusting." You shook your head in disapproval, both at yourself, for still laughing at that horrible excuse for a joke, and also at him, because he was the one that made it.

"Thanks, I try." A soft chuckle rang out from him as well, his shaking chest accidentally bumping against your back as he laughed. "Back to the guitar. It sounded like shit because your hand position was, well, shit."

"Please don't ever become a teacher." You smiled cheekily and bit your lip in a hopeless attempt to conceal it. Gavin couldn't help but stare at your mouth for a second. Then he shook his head, a light blush dusting his cheeks, focusing back on your left hand. 

He wrapped his fingers around your wrist and moved it in the slightest, then looked back at you. "Okay, uh, try again."

You stroked the strings again, and, lo and behold, it actually worked. The sound was clear, skull-rattling, vibrating against your ribcage.

"I did it!" You exclaimed in excitement, left leg bouncing as you turned your head to look at him with a grin.

"Yeah." Gavin smiled, still not having let go of your wrist. His grey eyes shone in the moonlight, nothing but sincere contentment written on his expression. He was so close, you could see every single scar, imperfection and pore, yet he was somehow...perfect. The asshole detective was surprisingly different in private, and something about that just made him all the more alluring. Or maybe it was just the sound of waves, combined with his rhythmical, soft breathing, or the warmth of his chest against your back, you didn't know. You really didn't.

He turned his head away and rose to his feet.

"It's getting late, I-I should get going." Gavin mumbled, unzipping the guitar case and carefully taking said instrument out of your arms.

"Hey, uh, wanna meet again sometime?" You asked, helping him pack up the instrument.

"You want to- I mean, fuck, sure, of course. When?" Gavin stumbled over his words, and, in spite of thinking he couldn't even get more attractive, you were wrong.

"Tomorrow? Same place, same time?" You shrugged your shoulders in the hope of appearing nonchalant.

"Perfect."


	4. Wishing and waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gavin wants to prove Hank that he can, in fact, hold his liquor. Spoiler alert: He can't. And he's definitely a clumsy, giggly kind of drunk.

"Phckin Hank, thinks he's so great with his funky humanoid toaster and his alcohol tolerance." Gavin mumbled into his glass of Amaretto, taking another sip of the sickeningly sweet beverage. Believe it or not, the detective had never been too big on alcoholic beverages, and sweet ones such as liquor our bourbon were the only ones he could handle not scrunching up his face in disgust at.

It wasn't something he prided himself in, but then again, neither was puking in front of all of his friends at age 15 after just one can of beer.

So he had decided to hit up his local bar and practice his skills. Or at least that was what he was hoping to do, though he hadn't exactly made much progress in the past two weeks of doing so. Except for, well, probably murdering his liver in the process.

Still, the barista that worked there was...kinda hot.

Wrinkles formed on his nose as he forced himself to toss back a copious amount of his beverage. How could anyone genuinely enjoy the feeling of something that didn't even taste pleasantly burn down their throat?

He placed the glass on the table with a grunt. "Another one." He demanded firmly.

And there she was again, with her pretty face, youthful eyes and cheeky smile, rushing over to where Gavin was seated, bottle of amaretto held tightly in one hand as she approached him. Her presence was even more intoxicating than the alcohol itself, at least to Gavin.

Wordlessly, she filled up his beverage, and, as the detective was about to take it, her lovely hand appeared in his field of vision again, sticking one of those fake jelly cherries onto the edge of his glass.

"It's on the house." She winked, then spun on her heels, turning around to leave.

That was enough to keep him there for the rest of the evening.

-

On his (Gavin approximated) 12th glass of Amaretto, he was already wobbly, and a giggling mess.

Everything, hell, even the cactus placed on a nearby windowsill seemed awfully amusing for some reason. Probably because it was phallic-shaped, which caused Gavin to give the plant a fitting nickname: Cocktus.

"Hey, uh," He raised his hand to get the barista's attention, biting his lip to hold back another giggle that bubbled up in his throat. She was quick to notice him, swaggering over to his seat with an amused smirk on her face. "Can I get-..."

His gaze connected with hers, and he was left speechless. He had never looked at such beautiful eyes, such a masterpiece of a color he would have considered to be mundane on every other human, yet on her, it was a kaleidoscopical storm of (e/c).

Gavin could only stare at her for a few solid seconds, his lips parted to say something, and his mind not cooperating in the slightest.

"Let me guess, can I get you another Amaretto?" She smiled at him with a knowing glint in her gaze.

"You have really pretty eyes." He blurted out before he had even processed his own words. In surprise, she clutched the small round tray she was holding closer to her chest before shaking her head in amusement. Desperately, Gavin stuttered out the first sentence he could think of that might fox his situation. It came out worse than expected. "Wait, fuck, no, I didn't mean that."

Silence settled between the two of them, only the languid music of the bar playing in the background.

"I- l mean, I meant it. Like I meant that you have pretty eyes, I just didn't- Shiit." He lowered his head in shame, staring at the table and drumming his fingers against the surface.

And then she giggled. If Gavin would have to make a list of his top ten favorite sounds, that angelic laugh of hers would take the cake, probably followed suit by the guitar riff of 'Bad to the bone' by George Thorogood. And if her laugh had managed to surpass that, it certainly had to mean something.

"Tell you what. My shift'll be done in like five minutes, so how about I join you?"

"Reall- I mean, fuck, yeah, sure. Of course."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To whoever gets what song the title is referencing, I love you


	5. Roots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Hanahaki AU) In which Gavin ishopelessly in love with you, and realizes that unrequited love comes with a price.

Gavin had considered it a myth, honestly. Of course he knew about Hanahaki, the disease of unrequited love, but he honestly hadn't thought much of it. He didn't exactly love anyone. He promised himself he wouldn't, and considered it a guarantee of safety. After all, who needed something as childish as that?

Love was for little kids, a sweet lie told to the youth to help them carry on until it was too late to give up, a promise of happiness that could never be achieved. Good thing was, Gavin wasn't stupid enough to believe in it.

Or at least not until he met her.

(Y/n).

She was a strange person, a blend of paradoxes, myths, hope, sarcasm and dreams. (Y/n) was something Gavin hadn't ever encountered before, and he was both afraid and thoroughly fascinated. 

At times, she was like an old porcelain vase, fragile and wonderful to look at, other days, she was a match just waiting to be set on fire, deadly if someone pushed the wrong button. But it was (y/n). His childish, mature, sweet, blunt, daring, charming (y/n). Or at least that was what Gavin wanted her to be.

He didn't even notice when exactly he started falling in love with her, it was almost as if the whole experience was a water slide, accelerating and intensifying the further he got, or in the detective's case, the more he fell in love with her. 'Falling' was the only fitting way to describe it, honestly.

Here's the thing about falling, though.

What if there's no-one there to catch you?

That was exactly Gavin's case.

—

"Good morning." He greeted clumsily, holding one cheap paper cup in each hand, the temperature almost burning through his palms. But Gavin didn't care. Because said coffee was for (y/n). 

"Gavin, hi. You brought me coffee?" She gave him one of those lovely, lopsided smiles, taking one of the cups from his hands. That expression would be enough to get him on cloud nine for at least a solid minute.

"Yeah."

"Thank you." (Y/n) brought the cup up to her nose, taking a whiff of the beverage. "It smells wonderful."

"You're...um, you're welcome."

"See ya around, Gav." She spun on her heels to leave, taking a sip of the coffee as she did. Gavin could only stare at her dumbly, watching the small jump in her step as she strode away. And he was positive he had never seen someone that beautiful.

Gavin stayed in the break room for a little while longer, smiling to himself before shaking his head and finally deciding to get to work. As soon as he stood up, a visceral, bone-rattling cough went through his body, pounding against his sternum with every breath he choked out.

"Reed, what the fuck?" It even got Hank, the person Gavin usually fought with, to frown at him in worry and approach him.

His mouth tasted like acid and something...else, like salad, something bitter and sour at the same time. Gavin looked at the hand he had coughed into, and-

Oh no. No.

A single dandelion, its petals mixed with saliva was in the middle of his palm.

"Yeah, I'm good." He lied to the older man, clenching his hand into a fist and storming into the men's bathroom.

That was the first time of many more to come.

Gradually, Gavin stopped eating as much as before. The flowers growing inside his stomach, and crawling up into his throat made him feel constantly full, and also hurt like hell every time he swallowed something that wasn't liquid. He was already sleep-deprived, but the disease only worsened it, causing him to wake up night after night and sit by the toilet, on his knees, arms hugging the seat as he coughed up flowers. Fucking flowers, of all things.

And although it may have sounded absolutely brainless, all of it still hurt less, far less than what the disease had confirmed. It was the exact, factual proof that (y/n) did not love him. And that she probably never would.

Of course she got worried about Gavin—in spite of the fact that he started wearing the baggy shirts from when he used to be a chubby teenager, in the hopes of concealing that his body was nothing but a structure of bones with a thin layer of skin fitting them like a glove. And in spite of him repeating "I'm fine." like a sacred mantra, a promise of martyrdom, a call of death. And in spite of the blood staining the skin under his nails, and the petals stuck on his shirt, she believed his pretty lies.

Because Gavin did too.

If this was how he was going to die, then so be it. He would die for the one he loved, and that was enough for him. Not like he had much to live for in the first place.

He had come to terms with his fate only a month after finding out about his disease.

Gavin started writing letters. He never thought he would, ever, do such a thing, but here he was, seated at his desk, head weakly rested on one arm, the other shakily writing out his last goodbyes. He started off with his parents, one for his mother, one for his asshole of a father, continued with Elijah, and finally, when he got to (y/n)'s, he realized he couldn't. They barely even interacted. It felt...wrong to say goodbye to someone he hadn't even told hello yet.

And that hurt even more.

Gavin sighed, gathered the three finished letters in a stack, tapped them against the table three times, then set them on his kitchen table, hoping it'd be easy enough for his family to find them after his death. Sending them out...was something he didn't think he would be capable of.

He went to work the next day, plopping down at his desk, silently watching the screen of his terminal. Fowler, for some reason, had significantly dropped the number of missions he assigned Gavin, and the detective hoped it wasn't because of his state. It probably was, though.

Without him even noticing before it was too late, (y/n) passed by his desk, hurriedly making her way into the evidence room.

And a thought popped up in Gavin's mind.

What could go wrong if he confessed his feelings? His state was already miserable, (y/n) didn't love him anyways, so what was there to lose about being honest?

A rush of adrenaline, something he hadn't felt at all in the past few months rushed through him as he stood up brusquely, only one goal in mind,

And then the world started spinning.

Or at least it sure damn felt like it. His insides felt hot, unbearably so, pulse pounding against his head and sternum as the world slowly lost its colors. 

The last thing Gavin knew, he collapsed, spiraling into blissful darkness.

—

Quiet, all of it was quiet.

Peaceful.

"Go back to work, for fuck's sake! All of you!"

Ah, there it was, Fowler's unforgiving, deep voice. If he was to be honest, Gavin didn't have many expectations about the afterlife, most of them ranging from talking to a deity to spending eternity in silence, but never in a hundred years would he have guessed that the first thing he heard after his death would be his old boss's voice.

And the sound of shoes squeaking against tile floors. Did heaven have tile floors? Or maybe hell did.

Oh well, he shouldn't have gotten his hopes up anyways.

He flinched when something cold was pressed to his forehead, and shifted around, realizing said tile floor was also below him.

"I think he's waking up." 

(Y/n)'s voice. This was definitely heaven, then.

"Gavin? Gaaaavin...?" She called out softly, a light pat on his cheek following her sweet voice.

"I should try waking him up, Lieutenant."

"Fuck no, look at him. If you slap him like you slapped me, you'll probably break his ribs or some shit."

What if this was neither heaven, nor hell, nor anything in-between?

Finally, Gavin could muster the energy to open his eyes, and let out a weak cough.

And was very pleased to realize that the lovely face of (y/n) was the first thing he set his eyes on. She was kneeling beside his passed out form, wiping his face with a dampened cloth. They were in the bathroom, the men's bathroom, Gavin realized, surrounded by Hank, his plastic pet, and Fowler.

They had propped him against one of the walls near the sink, and rested his back against it.

"He's okay!" (Y/n) told the three other men, looking away from Gavin.

"Fuck, thank God." Hank sighed, then left the bathroom with a shake of his head, followed suit by Connor, who nodded at the two of them on his way out.

"The ambulance should be here soon." Fowler added, then also left.

"Thank you, Fowler." (Y/n) smiled, then immediately returned her attention to Gavin. "How are you feeling?"

He could only chuckle weakly. "Heh, take a guess." (Y/n) didn't smile.

"I'm sorry." She added after a few seconds, avoiding his gaze. Gavin's brows furrowed. She didn't know about his disease, did she?

"Sorry? ...for?"

"For not saying anything. We all noticed that you were staring to lose weight, and always rushing to the bathrooms, but no-one did anything. But I...I promise I'll be a good friend from now on, and help you, through all of this. I didn't know you had an eating disorder."

So that was her diagnosis? Bulimia? Anorexia?

Poor thing, she actually thought there would be a way to help him.

"You can't...help me. But is' okay. Not your faul-" A violent tremor went through his body, and Gavin could only lean forward and cough into his fist. A full on flower, stem, leaves, and even root included. The root was something new.

"A flower? Wha-" Before (y/n) could say anything else, Gavin clenched his fist around it and moved it away.

"Nothing."

"Why are you coughing up flowers? It can't be-" Her brows furrowed deeply, and (y/n) suddenly understood. "Oh, Gavin. Is this...Hanahaki?"

He could only huff and nod his head.

"Who is it?"

Gavin shook his head. "Don't matter."

"Yes, it does. You're...you need to get surgery. I don't want you to die!"

He smiled bitterly and shrugged his shoulders. "There's not much to live for at the moment."

"If you wouldn't be as thin as a goddamn toothpick, I'd slap you, Gavin Reed! What's that even supposed to mean? You're fucking 36, there's still a lot of things to live for!"

"But you don't love me back."

It was as simple as that, but at the same time, it wasn't. A deep-rooted pain in (y/n)'s eyes made him realize just how foolish his decision to tell her was. Now he would die, and (y/n), (y/n) would live the rest of her life with the guilt of having killed someone. She didn't deserve that. She didn't-

"But what if I do?"

Gavin's bitter, deep-throated, silent laugh mixed with another cough.

"You don't. But that's not... 'S not your fault, okay?" With the hand that was closest to (y/n)'s, he put it over hers and stroked the back of her knuckles. "Promise me you won't...blame yourself?"

"Hey, no, you don't get to leave me like this! You don't get to tell me all that sappy bullshit after you made me realize I love you too, okay? When you were passed out, I understood that I couldn't— I could never— You are what gets me through the day, Gavin."

He wanted to answer, he really did, but another coughing fit, more violent than the other, ripped through his throat. Gavin found himself hacking up two flowers, their petals stained with blood and saliva, and again, with roots.

With roots.

Only then did he understand: the plants were dying out. (Y/n) really had told the truth.

"He's in the bathroom, and he's conscious." Fowler's voice from the other side of the bathroom rang out.

"Thank you. Alright, let's move." Seconds later, a group of medics stormed inside, and before he could even blink, Gavin found himself in an ambulance, and with the whispered promise of (y/n) ringing in his ears:

"I love you, and I'll be there when you wake up."


	6. Patch me up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MATURE CONTENT AHEAD
> 
> In which Gavin, your boyfriend, comes back injured from a mission, and you're more than willing to patch him up and help him relax a bit.

Saying you were relieved to see Gavin Reed walk through the precinct's door in one piece was an understatement. It was already late, unbearably so, and he had been on a mission for the past five hours. Shootings, you had managed to understand from the bits and pieces you had registered on the news program running on the TV in the break room and from the conversations of fellow officers.

You focused mostly on burglary and other reported missing properties (considering you were still a rookie) while Gavin, your boyfriend, liked the versatility, and, for some goddamn reason, probably the thrill of danger that came from solving homicide cases.

This time, they had inspected the house of a serial killer, only to realize it had been multiple people behind it, all armed.

So, as far as you were concerned, rushing to the main entrance, which Gavin and a few other detectives had just stepped through, and tackling your boyfriend in a hug, was completely justified.

"How are you feeling?" You asked, burying your face into the crook of his neck and smiling.

"I'll let you be the judge of that." He answered sarcastically and moved out of the hug, gesturing towards himself almost proudly.

His dark blue shirt was, upon closer inspection, stained with dirt, face covered in a thin film of sweat, a small bruise on his left cheekbone, and, holy shit, a huge slash, right across the top of his left thigh.

The material of his black jeans was peeling away, soaked with blood, revealing the dark crimson flesh underneath.

"Shit."

"Think you could stitch me up? I'm really not in the mood to go to the hospital."

"Yeah. There should be a first aid kit in the break room. You can um...go to your desk, and sit down?" You almost asked, earning yourself a chuckle from Gavin. Things like this had happened before, with him just appearing at the station and asking you to bandage a new injury or stitch it up. In the beginning, you had even suspected Gavin of having masochistic tendencies, considering how many times he got hurt. But no, it just turns out he really stopped giving a damn about himself. And also liked showing off his scars, but that was a story for another day.

"You're so cute when you're nervous." Gavin let one of those shit-eating grins slip before leaning down to peck your lips.

"Did the blood loss make you dizzy? The last thing I am right now is nervous."

"Whatever you say, then."

—

"Do I look hot?" Gavin asked, face propped up on his left hand, which he had rested on his desk, devilish grin playing on his face. He had taken his pants off, only in his boxers, and was sitting at his desk, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

"You look like you're on the verge of bleeding out."

"Not the aesthetic I was going for, but thanks?"

You scoffed, then shook your head in amusement, kneeling before him while also setting the med kit on the floor.

You silently got to work, stitching up the skin, stopping every few seconds to make sure it was done properly.

Gavin only released occasional grunts of displeasure, however didn't complain. Not until you were done.

"You look really great on your knees like that."

"I do?" You smirked up at him, grazing your fingertips across his inner thigh.

A deep, hot crimson blush crept up on his cheeks as he could only stare at you wordlessly. And realize just how goddamn hot you did actually look. Cheeky smirk, hooded lashes, and those hands—those fucking hands, running across his skin like a whisper, an insinuation of something more, perhaps even a promise.

A warm spark erupted in his abdomen, and Gavin felt dumb, so inexplicably dumb, because he wanted to respond with something witty, but could barely muster the courage to let a small sigh of pleasure slip.

If he felt dizzy before, his mind was completely blank the moment you leaned down to place a fragile butterfly kiss on the inside of his uninjured knee, slowly working your way up to his thigh.

"Fuck..." Gavin whispered under his breath, gritting his teeth and clenching his jaw, perhaps in the hopes of staying silent. 

"There's no-one here. Be as loud as you want." You smirked, you fucking smirked against the crook of his leg, and Gavin had never been so positively sure about how wonderful your hot airy whispers felt against his skin. His insides burned with need, and want, an itch, an urge he had to satisfy.

"If my leg wouldn't hurt like shit, I'd bend you over my desk this instant." Gavin growled and buried his hands in your hair, knotting it between his fingers. There was a certain gentleness and reluctance in his actions, but it was something you were willing to overlook. Unlike the forming bulge in his boxers, of course.

"I bet." You responded, hooking your fingers around the inside of his underwear's waistband. With nothing but a chuckle as a half-assed explanation, you leaned forward to lift his shirt and pepper tender kisses over his abdomen, working downwards.

The moment you traced your tongue over his V-line, Gavin knew he was a goner.

An indescribable sensation, both strikingly hot and cold at the same time, shot down his spine, pooling in his abdomen, just waiting to rise until it would spill over.

Before he even knew it, you had already discarded of that useless, constricting piece of clothing and wrapped those pretty lips of yours around him.

A flick of your tongue, a soft exhale of cold air, the hollowing of your cheeks— god, you had barely even started, and he was already losing his mind. The whisper of your name fell from his lips, crescendoing into a pleading moan, a dash of hissed curse words on the side, resulting in a symphony of desire. 

Gavin closed his eyes, overwhelmed by pleasure that crashed over him like waves after a storm. But he loved it. He loved being asphyxiated by nothing but his own ecstasy, unable to think, to breathe, and only to want. More, more, more.

"(Y/n)..." Your name fell from his mouth like a shaky whisper, a shiver shaking him to his core. The detective involuntarily clenched his fist around a few strands of your hair, his back arching, every single muscle of his body tense, like a rubber band ready to snap. "I...fuck...I love y— Oh shit..."

And only for a second, you released his cock from your mouth with a lewd pop! and smirked up at him, plump lips red from taking him so well, eyes dark and lusty, hair messy. A simple, sincere "Love you too." and one last movement of your hand around his twitching length was all that it took for the dam of pleasure to break, the knot of heat to snap, his back to arch and voice to crack.

Gavin tilted his head back, a throaty moan leaving his lips as he basked in the height of his pleasure.

Before all his muscles relaxed, shoulders slackening while his gaze connected with yours, the dreamy aftermaths of bliss pained on his loving expression.

"Let's go home, I'm nowhere near done with you."


	7. Remedy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which your workmate and frenemy Gavin Reed falls sick and drives the entire precinct crazy with his self-destructive tendencies. You decide to take one for the team and drive him home.

Gavin Reed wasn't the kind of person to back down. He was always ruthlessly ambitious, eager to speak his mind (call it impertinence, if you will) and, of course, what most would call a workaholic. This man loved challenges, hell, maybe even lived for them, but this was getting out of hand.

Gavin Reed sniffling in front of his terminal, unreasonable amounts of tissues scattered all over his desk, the skin below his nose irritated, eyes droopy. And he was still working.

And yes, maybe you (kind of) hated him, but watching him work himself to death was getting quite ridiculous. Aside from the nerve-wracking, continuous coughs and sniffles.

So you told yourself you were doing it not for him, nor yourself, but for everyone. You told yourself that standing up and walking over to his desk was something similar to...taking one for the team?

"Reed, pack your things."

"Not in the mood, (l/n)." He responded, his eyes not moving from the flickering screen of his terminal, not even for a second. 

"Great, neither am I." You said firmly, then walked around his desk, pulling his wheelie chair away from it, in spite of Gavin's clear protests and attempts of holding onto the table.

"The fhck are you doing? I've got things to take care o-"

"Shut your mouth, Gavin." You almost spat out his first name, which was enough to silence him for a few seconds. You used that to your advantage and turned off the terminal. "You've been driving the entire precinct crazy for the entire morning, so, for the love of God, just go home!"

"Make me!" So that was how he wanted to play?

"I will."

And you did. You were a woman of your word, after all.

Only minutes later, you had dragged the Detective inside your car (with the generous help of Lieutenant Anderson and even Captain Fowler himself), and seated him on the passenger's seat.

Though he didn't seem to be having any of it, arms crossed over his chest as he purposefully avoided your gaze, focused on the parking lot outside, apparently. You could swear he'd been pouting for a few seconds.

"So, now what, smartass?" He barked, voice hoarse, and unusually deep. You had to admit he sounded different, though not exactly bad.

And he had a point. Now what? You had gotten him out of the precinct, so that was out of the way. But alas, you hadn't exactly planned anything after that. But hey, improvising was always an option.

"I'm taking you home."

"Oh, you're starting a fucking cab business? Great, can I suggest some names? How about "(y/n) drives" or "(y/n) thinks of herself more highly if she takes her sick workmate home". That too long for you? Let's just shorten it down to "(y/n) fucks with your working schedule"!" Gavin ranted, voice dripping with nothing but raw sarcasm. He still avoided your gaze as his brows furrowed and he sank down in the seat.

"I'm being nice, so shut up before I strangle you with your seatbelt."

"Oh, how kind! She takes me home, and then strangles me with a seatbel—" A bone-rattling cough interrupted the man's sentence, his entire body shaking at the force of it.

You could only pat his back, the space between his shoulder blades, in a hopeless attempt to help ease the process. As soon as Gavin calmed down a bit, you took out your phone and opened your gps app, handing it to him.

"Stop being a stubborn ass and put in your address." 

This time, he did cooperate. Minutes later, you were already driving off to the location he had typed in.

The ride was silent, especially on Gavin's side, who's head was facing towards the window, away from you. You had turned on the radio about 10 minutes into the drive, which he didn't mind. Or at least didn't comment on.

Traffic was rather slow, but you did get to the address soon enough. You stopped the car in front of an apartment complex and glanced at Gavin, who was as unresponsive as before.

"This the place?"

Nothing.

"Gavin? Is this where you live?"

A soft tremor when through his body as he hugged his own frame, arms crossed over his chest. He slowly turned his head to look at you, glistening tiredness written in his gaze.

"Mm?" 

"Is this your home?"

His brows raised, and he blinked slowly, once, twice, then looked out the window. "Um, yeah."

He reached to undo his seatbelt and shifted in the seat, straightening his posture as you parked in a spot nearby.

"Hey, uh...thanks. For, bringing me here. And whatever."

You shook your head, and smiled. "No big deal. You need any more help?"

"No. I'm not a fucking three year old." He opened the door and stepped outside, unusually energetic. You were about to turn on the engine and drive off until you realized—Gavin was still there. Holding onto the roof of your car, his chest raising and falling almost painfully, eyes screwed shut.

He was anything but okay.

"Gavin?"

"Yeah, fuck. Stood up too fast. I'm fine." The detective breathed out, slowly letting go of the roof of your car.

"When did you last sleep? And eat?"

"Shut up, mom."

"Answer the question."

"I forgot."

This guy, you swore to God. You lightly slapped the steering wheel. In frustration? Anger? You didn't know. Because your empathetic side wanted to help this man, this piece of shit of a man that you usually fought with, while your rational one claimed that he could even rot to death, because you shouldn't care. Damnit.

"Okay, I'm coming with you, no backtalk."

"No thanks."

"I said no backtalk." You retorted and got out of your car, locking it and walking over to Gavin's side.

"But my apartment's messy as shit."

"Good thing this isn't a date."

—

Gavin wiped his sweaty hands on his jeans before twisting the key again, finally managing to open the door.

He stumbled inside the apartment, followed by you. It smelled warmly of coffee, the air in the room stagnant, but not uncomfortably so. The whole place was fairly neat, aside from a few takeout packages scattered around.

In the midst of you taking in the new surroundings, the feeling of fur against your legs caused you to yelp in surprise. What—

"Meet Damnit. She hates strangers." Gavin said hoarsely, not even bothering to look at your or the cat, which had switched over to rubbing against Gavin's legs. He instead shuffled towards what you guessed was the kitchen.

The animal darted after him the moment she heard the rustling of a plastic bag, and the high-pitched clinking of pet food hitting a small aluminum bowl.

Out of curiosity, you followed the cat, finding it already greedily eating up the bite-sized kibbles, and Gavin leaning against the counter, sealing the food bag.

"Really?"

"What." He answered, voice fading at the end of his sentence.

"You named your cat 'Damnit'."

"Yeah. And?" He said defensively, putting away the sealed bag and dragging himself out of the kitchen. "It's useful."

You could only furrow your brows in amusement and follow him into the living room, where he plopped down on the couch.

"Well, now what?" He asked, still expertly avoiding your gaze.

"Why do I feel like you've asked me that before?" You leaned against the doorframe and crossed your arms, cheeky smirk playing on your features.

"Why do I feel like you're avoiding the question?" Gavin asked on the same tone before coughing into the pit of his elbow. "Agh, fuck."

You approached him and pat his back, then gave a gentle push to his side, urging him to settle down on the couch.

"Lie down, I'll get you something for your throat." 

Gavin obeyed after a second of hesitation, faltering, unfocused gaze still managing to fixate your face.

"Let's hope it's not gonna be a seatbelt." He said, almost too cheekily for your liking.

Asshat.

—

Lo and behold, Gavin Reed was asleep. Forearm rested on the bridge of his nose, over his eyes, legs sprawled out over the backrest and armrest, an occasional pout twitching on his lips, probably from whatever he was dreaming about.

You had only been away for a few minutes, searching his bathroom for medicine, and he had already drifted off to sleep. You could only guess he hadn't rested properly in quite a while. What an idiot.

Though you had to admit there was something about seeing Gavin Reed so vulnerable, so unlike the facade he kept up religiously. And you didn't like the fact that you were liking it.

Instead of waking him up, you seated yourself on the carpet, back leaned against his couch. The position wasn't exactly optimal, considering the fact that his breath was lightly fanning the back of your neck, but, oh well. You couldn't say you actually minded it.

And you certainly didn't mind Damnit slowly approaching you and rubbing up against your side. You couldn't stifle a smile and scratched the top of her head, then under her chin, to which she reacted with a loud, blissful purr and slow blinks of her pretty green eyes.

"Gosh, what a beauty you are!" You picked her up and brought her small, pink little nose against yours, chuckling to yourself.

"Thanks." The voice from behind you answered, hoarse with sleepiness. Almost dropping the poor animal, you whipped your head around to find Gavin looking at you through thick dark lashes, that lopsided, devilish smirk twitching on his lips.

"I was talking to the cat."

"You sure know how to ruin a good mood." He answered and thrashed around to settle on his back before his gaze connected with yours again. "Hey, uh, you found anything for my throat?"

"Yeah." You slithered a hand inside your pocket and revealed a pill, which you handed to Gavin. The detective only silently took it from you, popped it inside his mouth and swallowed it, Adam's apple bobbing as he did.

Why was that strangely hot?

"You don't have to babysit me." He added after a few seconds of complete silence. His tone was reluctant, strangely different from his usual demeanor.

"And risk losing my favorite asshole of a person? No way." You chuckled and scanned his face, noticing a thin film of sweat on his forehead. "How are you feeling?"

"Dunno. Cold?" Gavin shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. Then proceeded to almost have a heart attack when you leaned over him and placed a hand on his forehead, quickly announcing:

"You're burning up."

He reached up to your hand and pried it off his forehead, in spite of how strangely soothing the temperature felt against his skin.

"Most people would just tell me I'm hot, but hey, I like your style." He added with a wink, hoping to cover up just how much a simple touch had affected him.

"You, Gavin Reed, are impossible." You shook your head and sighed, slowly rising to your feet.

"I've been told." He answered, smirk growing into an unfaltering grin.

"Anything else I can get you?" You asked, ignoring how strangely good Gavin looked with that smug, playful expression on his face.

"A blanket and some company sounds nice."

You left the room, heading to where you assumed his bedroom was, and picked up the (surprisingly, neatly folded) blanket from his bed.

As you were heading back to the room, you could hear Gavin talk, though you couldn't make out any words. The moment you entered, you noticed him put down his phone.

"Hope you like pizza." Gavin announced with a small proud smile.

That was...different. The tone of his voice, (not because it was sexily hoarse, mind you) was strangely peaceful, soothing. His smile wasn't a devilish grin for once, but actually well-meaning and soft. It was a nice change compared to the usual Gavin.

"Yeah. Pizza sounds great." You answered, mimicking his softness before unfolding the blanket and draping it over him. Gavin only responded with a gentle, thankful glance at your face. "Anything else?"

"As I've said before—" A cough interrupted his sentence again. "Some company. Would be nice."

"I don't wanna get sick too, thanks."

"You know that's not how it works, right? You can only catch it if it's from a virus. This is just—" You could see him hold back another cough. "—a cold. I get this almost every year, no joke."

"If I get sick too, you'll come babysit me. No excuses." You demanded firmly before reluctantly sitting down on the couch too, leaving an arm length of distance between the two of you.

"Yes ma'am." Gavin joked before cautiously shifting closer, throwing one side of the blanket over you so that it covered half of your back too.

Not to mention the almost unnatural warmth he was emanating already. This man was a walking heater, quite literally.

"Aren't you hot?" You asked and gestured to the blanket, finally closing the space between the two of you, your knees bumping against his.

"I sure am." That wolfish grin again. You rolled your eyes.

"Gavin, seriously. How are you feeling?" You insisted and put your hand on his forehead again.

"I'm kinda cold actually."

"Really?"

"Yeah." He shrugged and pulled the blanket tighter around himself, which also caused you to involuntarily lean in, against him. "And tired too, but hey, when am I not tired?"

"You're such a self-destructive idiot, Gavin."

"Anyone ever told you that's not how compliments work?" He answered and leaned against the backrest, hooded eyes still focused on your face as he suppressed a yawn.

"That wasn't a compliment, Narcissus."

"Tough luck, I'm not in the mood for thinking of intelligent insults."

"Get some sleep before the takeout arrives." You reached out to pat his shoulder in what you hoped was a soothing manner.

"And let you take all the pizza? Hell no." He chuckled to himself and then looked at you—and oh God, you wouldn't have ever considered Gavin Reed to ever be this good-looking. He looked so youthful, soft, gentle, tender. You didn't even realize what you were doing before you had pushed his head down to rest on your lap. 

"Sleep, Gavin. You need it."

"Okay mom." He snickered one last time. You decided to ignore him, only leaning back into the couch and absentmindedly running your hand through his hair.

"And shut up for once."

He sighed, chest rising before his eyes slowly fluttered closed. His body relaxed, slowly but surely drifting off into unconsciousness.

You continued drawing feathery patters of touches on his jaw and through his hair, hoping to ease the process. The whole situation caused warmth to swell in your chest. Gavin Reed had never been this peaceful, at least not with you, though you couldn't say you weren't enjoying it. You could definitely get used to this.

"You know, if getting sick implies that you'll come over to take care of me, then I'll start considering doing it more often." Gavin whispered, one eye lazily opening to look at you, curious for a reaction.

You only chuckled and traced your fingers over his stubble.

"You know there's other ways to ask for my company other than getting sick, right?"


	8. Watercolor Skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gavin soends a lazy morning in bed with you. Includes thigh hickeys and coffee.

Gavin had never really looked for the prettier side when it came to things. He liked sunrises, but he never bothered taking pictures of them. He liked putting milk in his coffee, but he never stopped to just enjoy the spectacle of white hugging brown, becoming one, guided by the swirling of his teaspoon. He never bothered to admire the burn marks on his toast—he just ate it. 

Gavin Reed didn't find the simple pleasures in daily tasks. He didn't need to anyways.

Not until he met her.

She was everything he had missed out on until then. Pictures of sunrises, quiet coffee mornings, finding peculiar shapes of burn-marks toast. She was that playfulness, that pleasure, that love for details, everything Gavin wasn't even aware existed.

But now that he knew of it, he couldn't get enough of it.

And he was loving every second of it.

Gavin looked down to find her tracing her fingers along his collarbone, lower half of her face covered in the blanket they shared, eyes smiling from her cheeks. The light orange sunrise painted her features with warm colors, and caught in her lashes, making them seem even longer. Now this, this was something Gavin could get behind. Both literally and figuratively.

It smelled stagnantly, yet also warmly of used up air after a long Friday night spent in bed—and of coffee.

"Good morning." He spoke up, voice hoarse with sleep.

(Y/n) answered with a smile and moved her hand up his bruised, multicolored neck, earning herself a tremor from Gavin. 

"It is." She whispered as if it were the biggest secret in the world, and accompanied it with a dreamy chuckle. Her hand finally reached up to his face and cupped it lovingly, stubble scratching against her hand. "I made us coffee. Want me to get it?"

"If it's no trouble?" Gavin asked with a convincing smirk.

"The only trouble I have is you, Gav." She joked and stood up from the bed—and holy shit, did she look gorgeous. She had carelessly put one of Gavin's shirts, plain light brown, presumably sometime after last night's events. It only reached slightly above the middle of her thighs, and showed off her body just right, occasionally revealing just a hint of the white panties underneath.

"Don't be so harsh." He answered playfully, hoping to cover up the fact that his mouth was almost watering, and closed his eyes, stretching out his back and legs.

Before Gavin even knew it, (y/n) returned, one cup in each hand, and set them on the nightstand. The detective wanted to reach for one, only to drop it back to its place as soon as he felt (y/n) crawl up to him, between his sprawled out legs.

"I thought we were having coffee." Gavin joked.

"Are you complaining, Reed?" She looked up at him through her lashes, a small smirk slipping past her facade. She set her hands one one thigh each, giving them a squeeze before starting to trace her fingers over the lovebites sprinkled all across the skin. Some blue, some green, some purple, some yellow.

"Hickeys look good on you." (Y/n) added with a tint of absence in her voice, fingers nimbly stopping to press against one of the fresher marks. "So colorful, like...like—"

"Watercolors." Gavin blurted out, and wanted to sink into the blankets out of shame, and probably never come out again. Watercolors, really?

"Guess that makes me a painter, hmm?" She giggled and lowered herself between his legs. Gavin could literally feel her presence—hair tickling his inner thighs, breath fanning his lower abdomen, shoulders propped against his knees.

Fuck, that mouth. Those lips, Gavin swore to god, he'd never witnessed something this heavenly and fucking sinful at the same time, but he loved the contrast of it. The contrast of affection and harshness, the exchange of both dominance and submission, and he loved her.

She sucked against the skin of his thigh, catching it between her teeth, smirking, smirking against it goddamnit, and glazed her tongue over it, as if to seal it, before letting it pop out of her mouth. She exhaled against it lightly, breath icy cold because of the wetness of her saliva glistening on the mark, then crawled up to Gavin, laying her head on his chest and smiling.

And stopped. Just like that.

"Coffee?" She asked and pointed at the nightstand, completely oblivious to Gavin's blush, which had spread all the way down to his collarbone and shoulders.

"The fuck was that for?" He asked in an almost repulsed manner.

"Symmetry."

"What?"

"You had four hickeys on your left thigh and five on your right. I added one more. Symmetry." She explained, then bursted into a childish laugh. "So, coffee?"

"Oh, you're gonna get so much more than coffee." Gavin growled against her neck, lips forming into a wolfish grin.


	9. GReed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gavin Reed has a YouTube account called GReed. He's fairly popular (2 M Subscribers) and does mostly game reviews, Let's Plays and occasional Vlogs. You, a mere fan, somehow end up in one of said Vlogs.

One earbud in, elbows propped against the shopping cart filled with products you were supposed to arrange on shelves, you walked through your local supermarket, where you had been employed not more than four days ago. You had thrown your phone inside the cart and built a stand out of toilet paper packages. The screen flickered while you were waiting for GReed's livestream to start, using it mostly for background noise at the moment. 

You weren't a born multitasker, but then again, missing your favorite youtuber's livestream was something you'd probably regret later on. So you decided to combine working and watching him.

Livestream starts in:

00:00:05

About time, you thought to yourself as you glanced at the screen quickly, then returned to placing products on the shelves.

"What's up Reed Creed. The supermarket vlog is back by popular demand, because it seems you losers really enjoy watching me do stuff you should be doing yourselves." You chuckled to yourself while his words rang in your left ear. 

The screen switched from the usual red, simplistic background over to GReed's face. The angle he was holding the camera in was rather unflattering, and showed only his face and upper neck, as well as a supermarket roof.

God, this guy. It should be illegal to be this handsome in 720 p and such a horrible angle.

Suckmyweewee69: It's bcs watching u pick between Fruit loops and Cheerios is more quality than your COD gameplay.

You shook your head at the comment, holding back a laugh. The bullying between GReed and his fans was usually well-meaning and playful, so you didn't exactly care for mean comments. GReed probably didn't either. An amused snort could be heard from one earbud. 

"Suckmyweewee69 – what a horrible fucking name, by the way — I bet you play Fortnite unironically. And that you live in your mom's basement."

Oh wow, how mature.

You held back a grin as you strolled over to the vegetable aisle, and stopped there to puff air in your cheeks. Sorting these is going to take a while.

With an annoyed grunt you looked back at the screen, only to see a donation pop up on the screen.

AlasMyAss donated 1$: yo chum i'll donate u 25 more bucks if u ask an employee to recommend ya the best lube n show u the thickest cucumbers they got.

"Alright, AlasMyAss, we'll talk when you raise the price a little." GReed responded, that cheeky, wolfish grin you had grown to love throughout the years visible on his face. "50 dollars and we've got a deal."

AlasMyAss donated 25$: You're getting the rest as soon as u go thru with it.

"Why not ask for a striptease while you're at it?" GReed chuckled at his own joke, stopping abruptly. "That was a joke, by the way. Go find yourselves some twitch thots if that's your style."

You laughed silently. This should be fun to watch.

You took your phone off of the improvised stand, opting to instead hold it in your hands, and put in both earbuds.

A few seconds of silence followed, spammed by people that donated around 5$ each and wrote things such as 'suck my ass' 7 times, or memes from his channel. Only the metallic squeaks of his shopping cart could be heard.

"Holy shit, this place's got no employees, I swear to god. Where the fuck-" You heard GReed mutter under his breath, followed by a swift turn of his cart. "Okay, Jesus, found someone. Finally."

You realized he had abandoned his shopping cart and had taken his camera, phone (or whatever he was filming with) with him. It shook with every step he took.

"Phck, I can't—" He broke out in a snicker. "Okay, here goes. Excuse me-"

A hand was placed on your shoulder, and you almost wanted to groan in annoyance at the poor timing. Who the hell could want something—

Oh.

Holy shit.

There he was, your favorite Youtuber, right there, in propria, face red with embarrassment, phone held up to film himself.

You couldn't believe it.

GReed was standing right in front of you, holy fuck.

Okay, play it cool, (y/n). Play it cool.

"Hey, how can I help you?" You asked, striking what you hoped would come off as a relaxed pose by leaning against one of the shelves.

"I was uh...I was wondering if you—" His voice sounded even more velvety in real life, oh God. "If you could show me your... best lube and some sturdy cucumbers?"

He had actually done it.

You bit your lip to refrain from bursting into a hysteric laugh. God, his face. This man's face—usually decorated with that cheeky grin— GReed was almost shaking with anxiety, poor guy. "Yeah...lube's two aisles that way from this one, and cucumbers should be over there."

"Great." You could literally read the cringe off his face. "Thanks."

GReed had already turned around, practically sprinting away, looking down in a hopeless attempt to conceal his face.

"Hey, you're GReed, right?"

If he had been anxious before, he was literally quaking upon hearing his Alias. He froze, reluctantly turning back around to look at you.

"Yeah." He answered reluctantly.

"Then make those fifty bucks count." You shouted after him, then walked off, phone in one hand, watching the comments literally riot.


	10. Dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a long day of work, Gavin makes things up to you by inviting you to a romantic dance in the middle of your kitchen.

The door silently closed, your and Gavin's shared apartment flooded with nothing but silence.

You puffed air into your cheeks, making your way into the kitchen, shucking off your coat and leaving it on the back of a chair before leaning against the counter and sighing.

You hadn't talked to Gavin properly in days, mainly because your working schedules didn't line up in any shape or form. He'd get home early in the morning, by the time you were supposed to leave, and there didn't happen much between the two of you other than an exchange of 'Good morning's and a quick peck on the lips.

You clenched your hands around the counter, then slowly relaxed them. You had at least a few more hours before your boyfriend would get home.

Barely able to still stand from tiredness, you quickly found yourself some teabags and started heating up some water.

A weary sigh slipped past your lips as you made your way over to a kitchen chair and plopped down on it. You closed your eyes and wrapped your arms around yourself.

Silence, along with the hushed hissing of your stove. Then, keys, hitting against the front door as it unlocked with a click.

"(Y/n)?" That damned voice you had missed hearing oh-so-much asked, equally tired as you were.

"Gav?" You stood up languidly and made you way into the living room, smiling upon encountering your boyfriend. "Hey."

"Hey babe." He smiled wearily and pulled you into a hug, placing a kiss on your hairline.

He smelled of coffee, leather, a hint of gunpowder, mixed with his natural scent and cologne. So inviting. You nuzzled your face into his neck and took it all in. All of him, and the feeling of his arms around you. God, you had missed this.

"Sorry." He began and ran his hands up and down your back.

"For what?"

"Not being there. Work's been a fucking nightmare this week."

"It's fine. Not your fault." You smiled against the juncture of his neck, then placed a soft kiss on it before sliding out of his hug. "I was making tea, if you want some?"

"Sounds good." Gavin grinned goofily and let you guide him into the kitchen as soon as he had taken off his shoes and jacket.

He plopped down on one of the kitchen chairs and pulled up a second one for you before turning on the small radio on the counter.

"What kind?" The detective asked.

"I was thinking about chamomile, maybe? Or peppermint, since it's your favorite?"

"Either is fine. It's just leaf water."

You scoffed at his words and took out one bag of each kind and offered them to Gavin, who ended up going for peppermint regardless.

"Got anything else in mind for tonight?" He asked with a suggestive smile.

"No, Gavin." You shook your head and chuckled. "I just wanna sleep. Actually sleep."

"Alright." He rose to his feet and approached you from behind, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder, leaning against you. "How much longer until the water boils?"

You placed your hands on the counter in a hopeless attempt to counterbalance Gavin. "A few minutes."

"Gives us just enough time." He whispered against your neck.

"Gav, I told you, not t-"

"Shut up, I'm not fucking you, I'm dancing with you. Or at least trying to." He explained, then slowly spun you around, holding you by the hips gently.

"Why?" You snorted in amusement.

"Because I feel like it. And because the song playing on the radio is good." Gavin explained hastily, reaching to place your hands on his shoulders, pulling you in close. "So dance with me? Please?"

"Could've just asked, you doofus." You snickered and opted to instead wrap your arms around his neck and pull him into a half-hearted, loose embrace while following his languid movements, the both of you stumbling over the kitchen floor in a clumsy waltz.

You started listening to the song that played quietly, yet failed to identify it. The only thing you could tell was hat it was themed around feelings of homeliness and safety.

Fitting.

A peaceful smile found its way on your features as you moved even closer to Gavin, chest against chest, his forehead rested against yours. Fuck, those eyes. Those scars, those little moles and freckles, everything about this man, damnit. Was it even legal to be this stunning?

"I missed this." He admitted. "Fuck, I missed you."

"Missed you too, Gav." You grinned like an idiot and brushed your hands up his nape before burying them into his hair, threading the soft locks between your fingers. "I love you."

Gavin stopped moving, his grip around tightening in the slightest. You were so close, you could literally feel his heartbeat. 

"Shit, say that again."

You were more than happy to oblige.

"I love you, Gavin Reed." You slid your hands back down to his back, playing with his hair as you did.

"That's the best thing I've heard in my life." He grinned against your neck wolfishly. "Aside from you moaning out my name, of course."

You wanted to laugh at his behavior, however were stopped by his lips crashing against yours with unmatched passion.

You reciprocated, unable to resist to the fluttering in your stomach, then pulled away with a shaky breath against his mouth.

"What-" he began, only for you to silence him with a peck, and then to add with a cheeky smirk.

"Water's boiling, Gav."

He chuckled sheepishly, watching you fill up two cups with the boiling hot water, then handing one to him.

"Thank you." Gavin took it from you, careful not to spill anything, and leaned against the kitchen counter. He brought it up to his lips, blowing away the steam before taking a sip.

"You're welcome." You smiled and settled down beside him, just close enough so that your shoulders would bump against each-other occasionally.

"I've been thinking." He spoke up after a few seconds of silence, setting down the cup of the on the windowsill.

"About what?" 

"About how I want this to last."

"Who said I'm breaking up with you?"

"Not what I meant." He shook his head and let his arms rest by his sides, drumming his fingers against the side of his left thigh, right above the pocket of his jeans. "I was wondering if you...shit, how— I was wondering if you'd like to marry me."

"Of course, Gav." You snickered, watching the tension in his shoulders fade. "Whenever you want to."

"Good." The drumming of his fingers against his leg increased in rhythm. "Because I was thinking— Thinking that we could...do that right now?"

You could only furrow your brows in confusion. Was this a proposal, or was he just rambling?

"What's that supposed to mean?"

You could see him visibly swallow, slither a hand inside his pocket, pulling out a small, velvety box, then get down on one knee.

Shit, he was being serious?!

"It means I wanna marry you." He spoke, voice heavy with anxiety. "Which...which leads me to the question—"

"Yes, Gavin!" You grinned and dropped down to your knees to be able to hug him, wrapping your arms around him. "Of course I do!"

"I didn't even ask anything!" He retorted, voice slightly strangled from your embrace. He relaxed, pressing a kiss to your neck. "But I'm glad to know that."


	11. Put on your War Paint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which you, a rookie, come prepared to the DPD, and that obviously includes knowing about Gavin Reed. Instead of avoiding or fearing him like the most newbies, you decide to give him a taste of his own medicine.

You've heard of him—he's almost a urban legend of Detroit at this point. And it's almost amusing too, honestly.

Gavin Reed, the famous asshole detective.

Rookies call him all sorts of names, ranging from witty ones such as "Ass-Holmes" to, well, simply put, fuckface. A childish way of dealing with injustice or just things they dislike—but it worked. It made enduring the asshole detective's temperament just a little more bearable.

Though Gavin had never seemed to mind, in fact, he actually seemed to enjoy it, and do all sorts of douchey moves just to spark new nicknames.

Fucking asshole.

He was out for a new nickname that day too, it seemed. He had casually approached you as you were standing by the coffee machine in the breakroom. But you were prepared.

"Hey, dollface. You're the new one, aren't you?"

"None of your business, detective Reed." You answered coldly, not even looking up from your cup of coffee, watching it fill up.

"Oh, she knows my name." He concluded and crossed his arms over his chest, simultaneously puffing it out. Perhaps in the hopes of seeming more imposing, or something of the sort. "I'm flattered."

"We all know your name. Because you terrorize them — us. Because you pull all the dick moves on us. Just because you're on a higher rank. But guess what, Reed." You paused, and took the cup from the coffee machine. "I'm not gonna have any of it."

"And what does that mean, shit head?"

"It means that you should put on your fucking warpaint. And start learning my name, your below average brain should be capable of at least that, Reed." You smiled and unfolded a piece of paper, handing it to him. "Or should I say, partner?"

He rushed to rip it out of your grip and read through it.

He was left dumbfounded, holding the sheet of paper, staring at it as if he hoped it'd just burn and cease existing.

He had been partnered up with you.

And Fowler's signature was at the bottom of the page.

Gavin drew in a shaky breath as you strode out of the break room.

So you wanted war? You'll get it.

—

It started off small, in spite of the grand entrance. You had switched the salt and sugar, causing Gavin to put salt in his coffee.

He had fucked with your printer, ultimately messing it up in some goddamn way, then fixed it at the end of the day with a few adjustments here and there, all while smiling at you victoriously.

You had responded by (admittedly quite childishly) spilling your coffee on him.

Gavin had messed with a lead you had gotten on a crime scene by placing baggies of cocaine all over the place, which turned out to be powdered sugar. After three hours of you searching for clues and him watching.

You then got your sweet revenge by making his terminal play a shitty porno at full volume the moment he unlocked it.

It took him a while to figure out how to turn it off, especially with all eyes at the station resting on him. And earned him a new nickname as well.

Gangbang Reed.

So you did kind of deserve the situation you were in at the moment, you supposed.

Skin sticky and red with koolaid, hair glued with the sweet substance as well, towel wrapped around you.

It was during a nightshift you shared with Gavin, and had been called in for a case where you had to chase a subject and gotten rather...filthy. Considering you still had four more hours of your shift left after you had returned to the station, you opted for the best approach, which was taking a shower.

It seemed like Gavin had been one step ahead of you.

And put koolaid inside the shower heads.

Fucking asshole.

"Reed!" You called out, well aware that the two of you were the only ones at the station at the time.

You heard him stifle a snicker from the other side of the bathroom door, then speak up.

"What, (l/n)?"

"Get in here this fucking instant."

"Can't, it's the women's bathroom."

"Get the fuck in, right now!"

The door opened with a creak as he stepped inside. His usually tired eyes glistened with wolfish amusement as he feigned innocence.

"Wow, who knew you had a thing for koolaid showers? Well, as nice as you look right now, I don't, sorry."

Was he honestly planning on going through with this with a childish approach? Calm down. He's an asshole, but he won't make you lose your shit.

"Why are you doing this?" You asked, keeping your cool.

"Staring at you? It's kinda hard not to, considering that you look like a-"

This man was really bad at taking hints, wasn't he?

"No. Why are you being such a dick?"

He almost seemed to be going through some sort of big epiphany, and you hoped, you really did hope for a mature answer.

"You started it." He shrugged nonchalantly.

What had you been expecting, honestly?

"Because I wanted to make it clear that I am not a force to be reckoned with!"

"Oh, yeah, I can see it." He snickered, then pretended to squint at you. "Definitely."

Little did he expect you to aim the shower head at his face and turn on the water tap at full force.

You stopped after a few seconds of spraying koolaid at him, admiring your work.  He blinked tha sticky liquid out of his eyes, his hair was glued to his forehead, t-shirt and leather jacket sticky.

"What the fuck!" He shouted, wiping off his face on the back of his hand, then looking at you.

"Tell me why." You insisted, aiming the shower head at him again. "Why you're being an ass to all rookies."

"Fuck off!" He stepped towards you, presumably in the hopes of ridding you of the 'weapon'.

You hovered your hand above the water tap and gave him a death glare. That was enough to convince the detective to take one cautionary step away from you.

"Explain, Reed!"

"Because..." He began, then bit his lip, looking away. "Fuck, do you know how much self-control it takes me to not slam you against a wall?"

Oh.

Oh.

Gavin Reed had a thing for you? That couldn't be it. 

"In a sexual way or in a 'I want to kill you' way?"

Gavin backed away until his back bumped against a coat-hanger, running a hand through his koolaid-slickened hair. "To hell if I know."

That gave you a clear...advantage. And you'll be damned if you weren't going to use it.

Struggling not to smile devilishly, you stepped out of the shower, made you way over to him in a teasing manner.

"Well then, Gavin." You positioned your hands on the wall, trapping his torso against yours. It felt good. It felt good to be the one in control of such a feisty, disobeying brat. And knowing that he had all the necessary strength to push you away, but refused to. That he outranked you, and you still were the one in control. A power rush you could get high on. "Maybe you should find out."

And then you moved away, grabbing another towel and your clothes in the process, stepping out of the bathroom and coolly announced. "I'll be in the men's bathroom, using the showers without koolaid, if you need me."

Which he did.

He did come after you, just a few minutes later, more than eager to wash off the koolaid on himself. And keep you company, of course.


	12. Teen Drama at 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After not seeing your old middle school best friend, Gavin Reed, for years, you practically deem him dead to you. Little do you expect to be flooded by embarrassment and surprise when testifying as a witness for a car accident at the DPD.

He's had embarrassing encounters before, of course he has. Gavin Reed is a detective, after all. His job is to uncover as much as possible, and that includes everything—even the things out of his comfort zone.

He had once stumbled across a one night stand from not even 8 hours ago before after getting called in to investigate a break-in. And accidentally been sent to his half-brother's house to investigate what Elijah claimed was a stalker. Only to find out it had been their mother, trying to contact them from a stranger's phone because she had lost hers.

But this—this took the cake. This was the pinnacle of embarrassing.

He was supposed to interrogate a few witnesses for a car accident that had happened a few hours ago. Not so bad, right?

Wrong.

Little did he expect to be sitting face to face with (y/n).

(Y/n) (l/n).

(Y/n) (l/n), from school.

(Y/n) (l/n), his best friend for 8 goddamn years.

Jesus Christ, how he had missed you without even noticing.

But when his gaze connected with yours, he knew—he knew he had found the missing piece of a puzzle he seemed to have been working on for years.

And yet at the same time was reminded of his younger, 14 year old self: acne, especially on his cheeks and chin, braces, awkward haircut and horrible, horrible taste in music. And how he had asked you out on 8th grade grad prom, and you had turned him down, insisting that your friendship with him was something too precious to be ruined.

How much it had hurt. How much he just wanted to sink into the floor and never get out again.

And how he had distanced himself from you, refused to talk to you more than strictly necessary throughout the entirety of high-school, covering up his heartache with fake confidence and a big, yet unstable ego.

How he had unsuccessfully tried to satiate his need for affection by sleeping around in his twenties, and never really getting attached to anyone.

"Gavin?" You asked, snapping him out of his thoughts, squinting at him in disbelief.

"(Y/n)...?" He asked with a matching reluctance, moving to sit down at the table in front of you. He set his hands on the top of his thighs, under the tabletop, and clenched his hands into fists. It really was you.

"Yeah." You answered, coughed awkwardly. Silence settled over the quiet interrogation room for a few seconds. "So uh...you're...you're a cop now."

He nodded his head. "Detective."

"Huh." You concluded. "Detective Reed. Has a ring to it."

"Yeah." He scratched the nape of his neck awkwardly.

"How has life...how have you been?"

"Good." He lied.

He had no purpose to even live, other than his cat. The only things keeping him functional were coffee and spite.

"Great." You said. "So am I."

"That's good to hear."

Another awkward pause.

"It's...It's...can I...is it okay if I request to be interrogated by someone else?"

What?

"Why?" Gavin blurted out. Was he still as repellent as he was at age 14 or something? Or did you have something against him? Damnit, why was he so bad at reading peop-

"It's just— I don't know. I guess it's just strange to see you again like...like this." You explained halfheartedly. 

"Good to know you still dislike me." 

Fuckfuckfuck, why'd he say that.

Why did he say that.

"Dislike you? Wh-" Confusion that turned into anger could be read off of your expression. "As far as I remember, you were the one that refused to talk to me during highschool. Not to mention avoided me like I had the plague, in spite of the fact that we used to be best friends for eight years."

You had been calm, but your tone gave it away: venomous, hurt, distant, cold.

"You're the one that turned me down in 8th grade!" Gavin retorted, and almost cringed at how utterly childish he sounded.

"Well, excuse me for liking the hunky quarterback and not someone I considered my best friend!"

"Do you have any idea how much it fucking hurt?" He asked, his fists clenching so hard that his fingernails dug into the top of his palm. "How long it took me to get over you?"

He wouldn't have thought that saying something he had been concealing for the past two decades would feel this...liberating. Liberating in a strange, terrifying way.

"Sorry, I can't hear your bitching over the fact that you literally abandoned me once highschool started. I had no friends, Gavin! Do you think that didn't hurt? To be all alone?"

Silence again, however not awkward this time. Instead, it was heavy and terrifying.

He hadn't ever thought about it from your point of view. Gavin hadn't ever considered that him distancing himself from her could've been painful for you as well.

God, he really was an asshole before he even started exteriorizing it, wasn't he?

"I...I didn't kn-" He spoke, sincerely, only to be interrupted by a gruff voice coming from the speakers of the one-view mirror from the interrogation room.

"Look, Reed, while I really regret not bringing some popcorn with me today, I gotta tell you that discussing your teen dramas is not gonna get us anywhere with the case." Fucking Anderson. "Get out, I'll interrogate miss (l/n)."

"Who the fuck are you to tell me what to do, Anderson?" He shouted at the one-view mirror.

"A Lieutenant, and your superior. Now move your ass outta there."

—

Interrogating took a lot of time, Gavin realized, especially if one wasn't an active part of it. He had been waiting in the Police department for a good few hours now, and you still hadn't gotten out of that room.

He was sitting at his desk, one ankle hooked over his knee as he stared at the floor, starting to consider just leaving. It was getting pretty late after all.

But he couldn't. He wouldn't dare to.

You deserved an apology. A sincere apology, not some stuttered out, half-assed, interrupted-by-Hank sentence.

He almost jumped when the door to the interrogation room opened and you stepped out.

Without another look around the room, you darted to the exit of the station.

Gavin scrambled to his feet, almost tripping over the wheelie chair, then hurried after you.

"(Y/n)!" He called out, and you stopped in your tracks once you were outside the precinct, frame tensing.

He caught up with you, bursting through the doors, stopping beside you, struggling to catch his breath.

"I'm sorry." The detective's tone was breathy, yet sincere.

You turned around almost reluctantly, taking a deep breath while doing so.

"I— I'm sorry too." You admitted.

"That's good— Good to know, I mean." Gavin said, regaining his breath rather quickly. He wanted to fix this. You deserved something better than this.

It almost felt like he was 14 all over again as he mustered the courage to speak up once more:

"I was wondering if you— if you'd like to go for some coffee? So that we can catch up with each-other, if that's okay." He stuttered, then took a dragged breath, stabilizing his voice and diction. "This weekend?" Gavin added hopefully.

It took you a few seconds, but you did answer.

"Yeah." You nodded. "This weekend sounds good."

Not a negative answer.

That was a first.


	13. With you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A birthday present for my friend Vibe, who is one of the most talented young artists I know.
> 
> In which you, an art student, and Gavin, a cop in the making, are best friends. He can't help but want more than that.

They had been friends since highschool. Gavin still failed to remember the circumstances of their first meeting, no matter how hard he tried. It was like melting chocolate in a pan, you couldn't exactly tell when the chocolate had started liquifying, only when it had already stopped being a bar of chocolate altogether. That was the only worthy metaphor for his friendship with (y/n) (l/n). He didn't know how it started, but he knew it had been a natural process, a slow one, but over the years, and now in the second year of college, she had become his best friend. Like water seeping through sand, she had seeped into his everyday life. Unnoticeable at first, a mere background presence in his friend group, until he found himself spending not only most of his breaks with her, but his free time as well.

(Y/n) (l/n) had been the most magical, natural experience of his life.

They had been through so much: (y/n)'s first heartbreak, where she ugly-cried on Gavin when that asshole of a boyfriend she had back then broke up with her through a fucking text. Gavin had been there, bought her ice cream, watched TV with her, listened to her bitch about him, helped her do her hair and makeup afterwards(which, in case you were wondering, turned out to be a complete disaster), watched her laugh at herself in the mirror after catching a glimpse of his failed attempt. He had been there when (y/n) told her parents about her decision to become an art major, defended her in front of them as if his life depended on it, and damn well succeeded too.

And (y/n) had been there. When Elijah came up with his first robot at 16, and Gavin had been kicked out of the spotlight for most family members (even by his mother), when he had gotten frustrated over how little him mom seemed to give a shit about him, (y/n) was there to tell him that she'd be there, no matter what. When Gavin had gone through a punk rock phase at 17, (y/n), in spite of not exactly being a fan of it, still stuck with him, helped him style his hair and taught him the basics of eyeliner, had accompanied him to all the concerts he had gone to, regardless if she liked the music or not. When Gavin had gotten his motorcycle, and learned how to drive, she had been there, sitting behind him, arms wrapped around his waist the first time he took it out in town, squealing in happiness along with him.

And there were the little things too. 

Watching countless dawns, talking about his fears, his aspirations, his wants, what he thought, what he didn't think, everything. She knew every emotional nook and cranny of him, and he knew all of hers. It was almost...terrifying, he supposed.

Here he was now, in a cafe, sitting at one of the tables, cold coffee rested beside him as he was staring at the blank screen that was supposed to hold his 3000 word essay about crime history. Meanwhile, (y/n) was scribbling away in her notebook, shapes and textures, along with small notes on the side of her sketch. Typical for an art student, she was always busy, or thinking of something, or drawing, or all three of them at a time. A very fine example of multitasking, Gavin concluded with an amused smile.

She was beautiful like that, smudged, hastily drawn eyeliner on her lids, fingers white from the pressure she was gripping the pen with (something she tended to do subconsciously) brows furrowed in concentration, hair tucked behind her ears, slowly slipping out.

So messy, but indescribably captivating, Gavin was mesmerized by the scene in front of him, in spite of having seen in hundreds of times before.

(Y/n) had taken note of his staring too, it seemed.

"Slacking off, mister policeman?" She looked up at him through her lashes, face still turned towards the sketchbook. Gavin didn't even need to look at her face to know that she was smirking.

"No, I'm taking a break." He answered a bit too defensively.

"How much did you write?" She smiled and leaned back in her seat. "Because, you know, my study of the Baroque style is almost finished."

"I wrote enough." Gavin placed his hand over the top of his laptop and closed it before pointing at her notebook. "Show me."

"Show me the word count of your essay first." (Y/n) answered and placed her hand on top of the paper, sliding it away from Gavin. That cheeky little-

"I'll take it by force, then." Gavin growled playfully and placed his hand over hers, pulling the notebook towards himself.

"I'll pour my hot coffee on you!"

"You know that means you'll have to wring it out of my shirt if you still want to drink it, right?"

"That's disgusting, Gavin." She scrunched up her nose. Cute. "Imagine coffee, but with fuzz and cologne. I mean..."

She did have a point, Gavin had to admit. She always did. She wasn't the most rational person he'd ever met, but compared to himself, she still was that little voice of reason, wether that was in his head or, if she was present, beside him.

"Yeah, now that you mention it." Gavin nodded his head from side to side, pondering, before a wide smile crawled onto his face. He drummed his fingers against the cardboard cup, creating a minimalist symphony of taps. Tap. Tap. Tap. Something he tended to do when he was overthinking, but of course he didn't know that. (Y/n) did, however, and couldn't stifle a smile. "But you could also lick it off my perfect abs."

"Don't overestimate yourself, it's just a flat abdomen with a hint of abs." (Y/n) answered, using Gavin's rather flustered reaction to her advantage and finally freeing her notebook from under his hand. "But I guess the police academy still comes with its perks."

"Unlike art school." Was the best Gavin could muster, though it wasn't exactly a great comeback. (Y/n)'s underwhelmedness could literally be read off her expression.

"Wow, asshole." She huffed and rested her cheek on her left palm, squishing her face and lips, which seemed kissably soft to Gavin. "You know what, if I had to pick between wringing out your shirt or licking coffee off your abs, I'd pick the shirt!"

"Okay, Miss useless-college-degree."

Her brows furrowed, lips curving downward and Gavin already knew she was brewing a witty comeback.

"What if we witness a robbery one day? You'll have to use your words when describing the culprit, and I'll be able to whip out a full-fledged portrait. Who'll be the useless one then?"

"I'd be a cop, so still you, probably." Gavin crossed his arms and smiled proudly before adding. "But who says I can't draw?"

"I do."

"I can, okay?"

(Y/n) smirked and ripped out a sheet of paper from her notebook, sliding it over to Gavin. "Draw me then."

"What?"

"You've known my face for years, and you also have it as a reference right now. So go for it. Draw."

"Oh, I'll draw, and I'll make it ten times faster than you." If there was one thing Gavin was always in the mood for, it was a challenge. Luckily, she was the kind of person to provide him with one, wether that was emotionally or mentally. Physically was another thing, because of obvious reasons and...boundaries.

"I'm waiting."

It took Gavin a solid ten minutes. 

The result? A stickman figure, admittedly shaded, with an arrow pointed at it, saying, in his hurried handwriting:

She's prettier irl

"That's disappointing." (Y/n) huffed, yet couldn't refrain from smiling at the horrible sketch. And unbeknownst to Gavin, folded it neatly and placed it between the pages of her notebook.

"You know what's disappointing? The fact that you picked my shirt over my abs."

"Not my fault your abs are disappointing."

"Not my fault y-"

"Can you two get a room, please? Some people are trying to have coffee here!" The barista had finally given in to interrupting their conversation and dropping the bomb, which left the two of them blushing madly.


	14. Interrogation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which you are being suspected guilty for contributing to one of the biggest Cyberlife raids in the past 20 years, all by hacking into their systems. You get brought to the DPD, where you have a fateful encounter.

"Silence isn't gonna save your ass, kid, so fucking say something!" Lieutenant Anderson had already reached his patience limit and practically exploded, slamming his fist against the grey table of the interrogation room.

You only smiled at him for the nth time, as silent as a statue, mustering your most innocent expression. He stood up stormily, chair tumbling backwards as he did.

"You little piece of sh-"

"Hank, get out." A voice announced from the speakers, coming from someone that presumably was behind the one-way mirror. It was silky, yet somehow rugged at the same time—bewitchingly paradoxical. "I'll make her talk."

"Don't make me laugh, Reed."

"Doubt it. Haven't seen you smile in years." The voice from the speakers replied.

Sassy. You liked this one already.

The old man had left the room moments later, and, after a few seconds of waiting, in stepped who you could guess had been the guy on the speakers. He was ruggedly handsome in a way you couldn't describe—like the sparks from a campfire. Warm, welcoming, but surrounded by a smug aura that promised trouble.

He walked over to the table, setting one hand on the back of the chair as he picked it up from the floor and put it back in its place. His gaze rested on you, a certain wolfish something in it before his lips pulled back to reveal a devilish grin. He hadn't even said anything, and you were already weak in the knees.

"You'd think hackers have cheeto crumbs all over their fingers and only shower once a month." He began, then laughed through his nose. You sucked in a breath. Fuck, how much exactly did the DPD know?

"Sorry to disappoint." You answered, covering up the fact that you were quite possibly melting on the cold hard chair and showed a fearless smirk similar to his. He rolled up his sleeves, exposing his veiny forearms, muscles rippling and tendons showing when he gripped the edge of the table tightly. You prayed he wouldn't notice the blood rushing to your cheeks.

"Ah, the hacker can talk. We're making progress." The man answered with the same nonchalance, voice smooth and velvety.

"Don't get too excited." You retorted.

"As far as I can tell," He smirked at you knowingly, taking a short pause. "...you're the one getting excited." Shit.

"Shut up." You commanded, hoping you had come off as firm and stern. His smirk only widened. You hadn't.

"Can't." He answered with a subtle shrug of his shoulders. He strode over to the chair you were cuffed in, resting one hand on the backrest, and the other on the table, practically trapping you. He inhaled slowly, dare you even say almost sensually, then leaned down in the slightest, just enough to reach the side of your neck, right below your ear. "Getting you to open that pretty little mouth of yours and tell me what I wanna hear is my job, buttercup."

You balled your hands into fists, giving your handcuffs a tug. Shit. You were quite literally trapped. Trapped to stare at his clavicle, struggling to avoid his piercing gaze.

What color were his eyes again? God, you knew you shouldn't look, but at the same time, you wanted to. Feel the electric sensation of knowing that his gaze was fixated on you and nothing else.

Curiosity got the best of you.

His eyes were...something else. A color you couldn't define—green, blue, gray— colliding, mixing, becoming one, yet not, every little stripe of color from his irises a different shade.

You didn't even realize you had been holding in a breath until he reached out to touch your jaw, and trace it with his middle finger and index.

"Look at you, so tense." He whispered, fingers trailing over your neck, to your chin, his thumb settling on your lower lip. "Scared?"

"Go fuck yourself..." You retorted, mouth brushing against his finger as you spoke, voice nothing but a meek, little whisper which faded into silence.

He ran his thumb over your lip, pressing down on it just enough to slip his finger into your mouth.

"I'm sure you'd rather be doing that right now." The man's voice had changed—it wasn't velvety anymore. It sounded like butter on toast, ice on a hot surface, carnal. Without another word, he moved his thumb over your mouth, almost alluding to a rough kiss.

Heat gathered in your abdomen, and you shifted around on the chair, brows furrowing as you wrapped your lips around his thumb, yet couldn't muster the courage to do more.

Your eyes fluttered closed in shame as he finally removed his hand from your face. God, you had actually enjoyed it. Him putting his thumb in your mouth had turned you on. Were you really that weak?

"Let's talk business, (y/n)." Your name rolled off his tongue in the most perfect kind of way. He moved away from you in the slightest, just enough to pull the file about your case towards you. The man settled behind you, looking at the files over your shoulder, chest bumping against your back as he had been kind enough to reach out to the papers and open them for you. Slyly, proudly, even, he began showing them off.

"This is the timestamp of the exact moment you hacked past Cyberlife's firewall." He tapped his index over the numbers, then proceeded to a string of coding you recognized all too well. "You hid behind a VPN, thought you were being very smart. But you didn't see one thing coming." He sucked in a breath, taking a pause for dramatic effect as he closed the file. "One of your little friends gave you away. Ain't that a bitch?"

You swallowed thickly, pressing your eyes shut as you tried to focus. Who could it have been? A total of five other people had participated in the whole action. All of them equally good friends with you. What if he was just trying to mess with you? Of course he was. That's what they all do.

"I think we can do each-other a service here." He began. "You give me all the names of your friends, and I..." 

The detective stopped, looking down at you with a cheeky smirk and hooded lashes. His voice went low, rumbling against his chest like the bass of a song.

"I could do you a little favor."


	15. Pillow forts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which you spend a quiet night in with Gavin. Includes movies, popcorn, and kisses.

The red, sqared letters on the nightstand illuminated his expression, drawing crimson shadows over his lips and nose. Everything about Gavin—his breaths, his blinks, his subtle movements— they all alluded to tranquility, languidness. The detective was staring at the ceiling as if it were the most mesmerizing thing in the world. He took in every little imperfection, crack and shadow on it, yet failed to tell why exactly it was this...interesting to look at. Perhaps it reminded him of a blank sheet, and alluded to the spaciousness he needed for his thoughts. Not too distracting, but not too perfect either. The ceiling of his apartment as he lied in bed.

Gavin thought about a lot of things, his thoughts connected like Christmas lights. One thing leading to the next. And so his mind began overflowing with different concepts, feelings, or memories, all of them somehow loosely connected in a way he didn't try to understand.

He lost track of time after a while. Didn't bother looking at the alarm clock, mainly because of her, rested in his arms. He didn't dare move, aside from breathing, too scared to disturb (y/n) in her sleep.

So Gavin returned to thinking. He thought of Elijah, for some reason, then his mother, who had become a full-fledged cat lady during the past decade, then, of his own cat. He started wondering if he'd become a cat...guy, or cat dude (or whatever the gender-appropriate term was) if (y/n) were to leave him. How many cats would he even adopt? Two? Three? Five? Perhaps even try to rival his mother's impressive number of 12? How would he even come up with that many names? Search them online or come up with them himself? Coming up with names was tedious. But then again, picking one from the internet felt somewhat...unsatisfactory and unoriginal. Damnit was a good name, that's why he had given her it. Would he name all his cats after swearwords? It had a meaning in Dammit's case. It was the only word she seemed to understand. Any other profanity just flew by her. But damnit? As soon as Gavin would say that in just the right tone, she'd stop whatever she was doing, and give him a guilty look. Speak of the devil.

The door opened in the slightest as Damnit had nudged it with the side of her head. Like a shadow creeping over to his bed, Gavin only saw the animal once it had jumped onto the bed, on top of the blankets, padding up to Gavin.

"Damnit, Damnit!" He whisper-shouted, trying his best not to wake her up. The cat seemed to be fully aware of his incapacitated state and nestled against (y/n). Gavin could've sworn she had almost smiled smugly at him.

"You've been at it for like...what, an hour now?" (Y/n) asked, and he flinched at the proximity of her voice to his clavicle.

"What exactly?" Gavin asked almost guiltily, watching (y/n) as she cupped Damnit's face, then gave her nose a boop.

"Staring at the ceiling." She concluded. "What were you thinking about?"

"Nothing." He lied. Because it was rather dumb to admit he had been thinking about becoming the male version of a cat lady.

"You know you can tell me if something's not okay." (Y/n) insisted, and Gavin couldn't help but lean down to peck her lips, his chest feeling as if it were about to explode with affection. God, what would he even do without her?

"Everything's fine."

"Just can't sleep again?" She asked and cuddled up against him further, going as far as lazily slinging one leg over his hips.

"Yeah." Gavin answered, setting his hand on the top of her thigh and drawing little circles on the naked skin with his thumb. "How'd you know I've been up for an hour?"

"I accidentally woke up a few times and looked at what you were doing."

"So I take it you were watching me." Gavin smirked, cocking a brow.

"There's a difference between accidentally looking at someone and watching them." She pouted, accusingly tapping his chest with her index as she spoke. 

"A difference you don't seem to know." He answered.

(Y/n) chuckled, then rose to her knees, tapping Gavin's torso between her legs, resting her hands on his clavicle. "You're such an ass."

"Anything I didn't know?" He set his calloused hands on her hips, then dragged them upwards, slipping them under (y/n)'s loose shirt.

(Y/n) rushed to stop his touches, then giggled at Gavin's confused expression. "Not in front of the cat!" 

The detective couldn't help but snicker as well.

"Well what else do you wanna do then?" Gavin asked. "It's 4 AM, we've got time."

"Just enough for a movie."

"Not exactly what I was thinking of, but-" He dodged a playful, gentle smack from (y/n) to the back of his head. "-I'll make some popcorn."

"Okay. I'll set up a movie. Any preferences?"

"As long as it's not a chick flick, anything." He shrugged while moving off the couch, purposefully avoiding the patch of bed where Damnit was snoozing to avoid disturbing her.

He heard (y/n) laugh through her nose as he padded out of the room, goosebumps flooding his skin as soon as the cold from leaving the bed began seeping into his skin and bones.

He found the popcorn package after a few guessed searches, ripped the plastic open, then threw the paper bag inside the microwave. Gavin waited beside the machine, shifting his weight from one leg to the other as if to minimize his contact with the cold floor.

After the popcorn was done, he rushed to stop the microwave just seconds before it'd emit the ear-piercing beep, and transferred the snacks into a bowl before returning to the bedroom.

The detective opened the door with his elbow, surprised to find (y/n)...outside the bed, throwing another blanket over two chairs she had placed on either side of the bed. Lo and behold: The blanket got caught on the backrests of the chairs, propped up to hang over the bed, creating something similar to a roof.

"What're you doing?" Gavin asked, and (y/n) smirked at him playfully.

"Pillow fort."

—

Gavin sat towards the front of the pillow fort to have a better view of the television, legs crossed, hugging a pillow against his chest, bowl of popcorn set in his lap. (Y/n) was right beside him, laying on her stomach, head propped up on her elbows as she watched the screen with a slight lack of interest.

A very cheesy kiss scene had just started, with the female actor having just fallen off a string ladder, her foot tangled up in it as she hung upside down, and the male love interest smashing his lips against hers passionately.

Gavin cackled at the horrible performance of the male actors, then took only one single kernel and popped it into his mouth. 

"I could've done a better job, and I'm not even a fucking actor." He commented, still grinning widely as he chewed the snack.

"Really?" (Y/n) chimed in, rushing to steal a big portion of popcorn and eat it up. "An upside down kiss isn't exactly easy."

"They pulled it off in Spiderman." He shrugged. "Can't be that hard."

"You sure?" (Y/n) rolled onto her back, eyes smiling from her cheeks as she looked up at Gavin.

"Is that an invitation?" He set the bowl aside and crawled up to (y/n), trapping her head between his hands, mattress shifting under both his and her weight.

"If you want it to be." She smirked.

Gavin laughed through his nose and lowered himself, folding his arms under him. (Y/n) was grinning, her fragile breath tickling his jaw. Gavin's mind raced and yet seemed to be stuck on one simple thought at the same time, branching it out into all its complex sub-meanings: bliss. Ecstasy, happiness, love, rapture, pleasure. Synonymous yet different, they all melted together into a nonexistent term the moment (y/n) tilted her head and pulled his face down, playfully catching his lower lip between her teeth.

Gavin chuckled and turned the small contact into a full-fledged kiss, his teeth clumsily colliding with hers before they both got used to the strange new aspects of their position. A devilish smile on his expression, Gavin gladly assisted (y/n) as soon as she began deepening the kiss. The detective tentatively caressed his index and middle finger over the side of her neck, stopping at the juncture of her shoulder 

Seconds later, she brushed her fingers through his hair and gently tugged him away.

"Out of breath already?" Gavin rasped against her lips proudly.

"No, I thought I was gonna die from sodium poisoning just from the sheer amount of salt on your lips." She answered with a snicker.

"What can I say? I'm salty." The detective answered with a goofy grin and continued his kisses on her neck.


	16. New Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [HALLOWEEN SPECIAL]  
> In which you, a freshly turned vampire, wander the empty, dark streets of Detroit in a hopeless attempt to find something to quench your thirst for blood.

It's not even comparable to normal thirst. It's a horrible combination between hunger, despair, lack of energy, a dry throat and the need to soothe it all with nothing but blood. Your bones felt as if they were about to disintegrate, painfully so, and your muscles were tense, burningly hot. If you would've still a human, you'd have compared this to a shitty fever with a twist. But you weren't. Not anymore. You hadn't ever thought it would feel this...maddening.

You stumbled into the night, straying on empty streets you've never been on, rain pouring down on you, looking for a way to quench your thirst, though you knew it was probably hopeless at this point. 

You almost tripped over nothing and fell face-first onto the muddy, rain-soaked ground, however managed to catch yourself before falling.

You propped your hand against a building and licked your lips—in vain. It didn't help in any way. It wasn't a normal kind of thirst, and you knew it. You sighed hopelessly, and cursed whoever the person that had bitten you not more than five days ago was, wishing them to rot in hell.

Why you?

Why were you the one that had gotten bitten by a vampire?

You balled your hand into a fist, knuckles still pressed against the wall as you took a deep breath and opened your eyes again. Your surroundings were blurry, as if they were nothing but the mere creation of your imagination.

The smell of something bitter invaded your nostrils. Bitter, yet pleasant. Blood.

Your entire body went from drained of energy to as tight as a coil, and fully awake in the matter of seconds, only one thing on your mind. Blood.

You noticed a silhouette approaching. Wide shoulders, confident steps, leather jacket hugging his frame.

Fuck, you didn't want to hurt an innocent person. You didn't want to be just like the vampire that had bitten you, you refused to lower yourself to that much lack of dignity.

"Hey, you okay?" Voice velvety and perfectly calm, you only saw his the puddles shoes splash as he approached you, his smell intensifying.

You wouldn't be able to hold back much longer if this continued. And for a second you hoped your supernatural strength would be enough to match his, and to allow you to drink his blood.

"Leave, please." You whimpered out, straightening yourself up, trying to blink away the dizziness from your head. To no avail.

"Oh, shit, you're one too." His voice was starting to fade into the sound of raindrops hitting the mud, but you forced yourself to focus.

"What?"

"For how long haven't you had blood? Two days? Three?" He stepped forward, using your dizzied state to his advantage, taking your chin between his pointer finger and thumb to look at your face.

"How the fuck do you-" You growled and ripped his hand away, admittedly somewhat weakly. A cough interrupted your sentence, and you had to lean against the wall beside you for support again.

"Look princess, no need to play games. I know a fresh vampire when I see one."

You bit your lip, hissing in displeasure when your sharp canine tooth pierced through the skin. "Five days." You answered silently.

"Five days without blood?" You heard him exhale through his nose before he grabbed your wrist gently, and guided you to the entrance of a stairwell from a nearby apartment complex. You were glad you were somewhat out of the rain. 

The man turned you around by your shoulders, making you face him as he looked at your face. His expression was neutral, yet showed traces of worry, and you had to admit he was ruggedly handsome in a way you couldn't explain.

"Five days without blood is a whole fucking lot." He concluded and shifted to look at your face from another angle, his crimson gaze curiously taking in as much details as possible. "You look like shit."

"Just what I wanted to hear from a strange man I met in a dark alley, thanks." You answered with a shaky breath. 

"Don't fucking sass someone that's trying to help you." He retorted, then took off his leather jacket from only one arm, letting it hang loosely over his back and other shoulder.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Helping you, you spoiled brat." He stepped closer, and you took a cautious step away. Sighing in annoyance, he extended his wrist out to you, then looked at you expectingly. "Come on, we don't have all night."

What exactly was he... Oh.

"Don't think drinking blood from another vampire works, bud." You scoffed.

"It's not as nourishing, but it should do until you get more." He insisted, still holding out his hand. "Doesn't taste as pleasant either, but you don't look like someone that can afford being picky."

"I won't bite someone else."

"Fucking hell, if you're going to start citing things about nobleness at me, I'm going to turn into a bat and fly away."

"You can do that?"

"I fucking wish." He grinned wolfishly. "I don't sleep in a coffin either, in case you were wondering."

"Oh, good, I was worried I'd have to start saving up for one for myself too." You answered, a faltering, yet similarly devilish smirk making its way onto your lips as well.

"Are you gonna drink or not?" He insisted. "I wanna drop by the butcher's after this."

"Okay, Jesus Christ." You grabbed his forearm, reluctantly bringing his wrist up to your lips. You sucked in a deep breath, opening your mouth just enough to let your fangs peak out.

And you stopped.

"I can't. I can't, shit." You cussed, letting go.

"Don't tell me this is your first time drinking blood." He audibly groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. When he realized you weren't answering, he brought his wrist up to his own mouth, face scrunching up in displeasure as he bit into his wrist.

"What're y-"

With a grunt, he let go of it, blood running down his lips, which he licked and wiped away with the back of his other hand.

Shit, why was that strangely...attractive?

A bitter, yet strangely delicious smell reached your nostrils. Just like coffee, but somehow more acidic. You could already feel saluva gathering in your mouth.

"Come on. Don't let it go to waste." He held out his hand again, and this time, almost driven insane by the scent, you were quick to grab his arm and glue your lips to his wrist, greedily licking up the dripping blood before positioning your fangs to fit inside the puncture wounds he had created.

The liquid soothed your throat, in spite of its acidic taste. It felt as if you had both drank and eaten after a long time, or like jumping into a pool after a hot summer day, or tea after being out in a storm.

"Alright princess, stop before you drain me." You felt a light push against your collarbone and a chuckle ring out above you.

Almost guiltily, you let go, and took a cautionary step away. Shit, you had just bitten a stranger. A guy you didn't even know the name of. 

"Sorry."

"Not your fault." He replied hastily, pressing his thumb against the wound to stop the bleeding, then putting his jacket back on. "Lasting five days without blood is pretty impressive by itself. What's your name?"

"Isn't it a bit too late to ask for names?" You replied sarcastically, wiping away his blood from your lips.

"We're both immortal, so the concept of 'too late' can't really apply to us. So yeah, knowing your name after I literally let you drink my blood would be kinda nice." He replied. And he did have a point.

"(Y/n)." You finally said.

"(Y/n)." He concluded, and experimentally said it, as if he were testing out how it sounded if he said it. "Not exactly fitting for a blood sucker, but there's always room for improvement. How do you feel about Raven? Or maybe Vladimir?"

"Oh shut up." You chuckled. "Bet yours isn't any better."

"I'm Ebony Deathgrip."

"Sure you are." You scoffed.

"Okay, you got me there." He admitted with a cheeky smirk. "I'm Gavin."

"Out of all the people out there, with all kinds of names, the one that got turned into a vampire is a dude called Gavin."

"And out of all the people out there, there's also you which got turned into a vampire. We're in the same boat, princess." Gavin chuckled and shrugged and you couldn't help but chuckle.

"Hey, uh, by the way." He spoke up after a few seconds. "I'm still going to the butcher's, and you're free to join. It's never bad to get your blood supply full."

"Alright, sure." You smiled and nodded. This should be interesting.

—

Gavin had been kind enough to offer to do the shopping for you as well as long as you paid the price for the blood, and you had gladly agreed, waiting for him outside the butchery. 

The bell above the door rang out, a very shrill contrast compared to the peaceful silence of the dim streets outside. Wordlessly, the vampire offered you one plastic bag, which you realized was extremely heavy.

"What'd you expect? It still is a liquid after all, and a bit more dense than water too." He asked with a chuckle, rushing to take it from you and sling the bag over his shoulder.

"How long have you been one?" You asked with a thankful smile in his direction.

"A vampire?" He asked, reaching inside one of the plastic bags, and taking out a cheap bottle which contained a red, slightly viscous liquid. He handed it to you, and you didn't think twice before unscrewing the lid. Blood. The smell was intoxicating, and you couldn't help but let it wash down your throat. "Three— No, four. Four years."

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, and concluded you'd still have to get used to seeing blood on your skin without getting worried about potential injuries. "You're handling it pretty well." You added.

"You get used to it after a while." Gavin concluded. "The fact that you can't see yourself in mirrors anymore is still fucking horrible though."

You chuckled. "Yeah, I've tried phone cameras too. No luck."

"Please, I've even tried polaroids." Gavin smiled at you wolfishly. "But I guess there's nothing that can capture my superb features and perfect body anymore."

"Oh yeah, real shame." You found yourself giggling along with him. You could get used to this. To him. "Guess you'll just have to ask someone to describe what you look like every time you go out."

"Which isn't very often, because y'know, sunlight."

"Speaking of. Does normal sunscreen work?"

"Depends. The best ones usually contain zinc oxide and titanium dioxide or shit like that." He explained. "Just check out albino forums, you'll find some recommendations there."

You couldn't help but take another sip from the bottle, which reminded you. "How much did this cost?"

"It's on me, princess." He brushed his thumb over his lower lip as he smirked at you. 

"That's really nice of you."

"Thank me when I take you out for some B neg blood." Gavin laughed through his nose. "Now that is the good shit."

"Wait, blood types taste differently?"

"Duh. A has...an earthy flavor, and hints of cinnamon. B, on the other hand, is very sweet. Vanilla-like almost. O tastes somehow robust, and with a strong finish. AB is kind of acidic."

"So what kind of blood is this?" You held out the bottle to him, swaying it back and forth in front of him.

"That, princess, is pig blood."

"And what about you? What type are you?"

"Definitely your type." He answered with a wink.


	17. Finding homes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is completely unrelated to anything that has to do with 'x Reader's. This drabble is, quite literally, nothing but a summary of how I picture Gavin's childhood could've looked like. Enjoy.

Unfamiliar beds worsened nightmares, that much Gavin was sure of. He never thought he'd admit it, ever, but he missed everything. His old bed, his old toys, the room he shared with his mom, and even her.

He never thought he'd miss his mother.

She did a lot of bad things, that much he knew. He'd heard it time and time again. She'd always bring strange men home, which Gavin suspected turned into thin air, because he never saw them again. He only heard them when they entered the small apartment he called home, yet never saw them leave. He could only guess they were had done so while he was sleeping.

His mother also drank a lot. Beverages that smelled funny and tasted horrible, yet never failed to make her giggly and tipsy. Gavin liked her when she was like that. She was more allowing, and showed her emotions. Genuine emotions. Not the head-patting or the disinterested glances he'd always get—she actually hugged him, then cried, cried so much, for reasons he couldn't understand. 

Then it all changed. A child worker came —Gavin still had no idea what exactly a child worker was — and his life got flipped around.

Suddenly, he started hearing about his father. The man he considered more mythical than real, to be honest. All the talk about custody started after that. Gavin considered it a funny word. It sounded like a combination between costume and melody. But it wasn't. It wasn't fun. 

Because apparently the fact that his biological father had gained custody of him meant that he had to leave all he knew behind.

His father already had a family. He was married to a very pretty woman—Molly was her name. She was blonde, tall, gorgeous, and with eyes like gemstones. Like blue gemstones. Gavin liked her, but she didn't like him. Whenever she'd look at him, there was that certain something in her icy gaze. As if she were looking at rotten food, or an old plastic wrapper, or something she'd like to get rid of.

And finally another boy—his brother. His half-brother. Elijah, with blue eyes just like Molly, and a constantly neutral expression, who always seemed to be fidgeting with something. The first time Gavin had seen him, Elijah was working on a lego construction, analyzing all of its shapes and forms, adjusting every little detail.

Elijah didn't talk much.

But Gavin didn't really expect him to. He was kind of thankful for it, actually.

He wasn't overdoing it like his father, who had been looking at Gavin through the rearview mirror during the entire journey to Gavin's new home, and theirs. Elijah wasn't putting on fake smiles like his father, nor scoffing at him like his stepmother. Neutral, looking out the window, glancing at the other side of the backseat from time to time, just enough to satisfy his curiosity about the boy that was supposed to be a new addition to his family.

And Gavin could appreciate that. He could very much appreciate the silent, passive curiosity he shared with Elijah.

The rest of that fateful day was a blur, and before he even knew it, Gavin found himself in a bunk bed, on the lower one, blanket pulled over his head to protect him from monsters he suspected could have been hiding almost anywhere in the unfamiliar room.

And even downstairs, it seemed.

"If you hadn't fucked that whore, we wouldn't even be here!"

"Look, I know it was wrong. I just— It was right after our fight, and I had had a few drinks—" Gavin came to the conclusion that his father was what his mother used to call a schmoozer. 

"Don't feed me your goddamn lies again, Tristan, I've had fucking enough! You knew I was already pregnant, and you still did it. You still fucked another woman. There's no excuse."

Silence. Gavin hoped it would last. It didn't.

"I'm sorry."

"You know what you should be sorry for?" Gavin could literally feel the tension between the two people, who were supposed to be his new parents. "The fact that you brought her kid into our home! Look at him! He's fucking eight years old and doesn't even say a word. And that's what you want to surround our son with? Some whore's fucked up kid? And make Eli call him his brother?"

"Molly, please." His father's voice had gone soft. "I want to make things right. I'm his biological father, and that means he's my responsibility as well. And he's still just a kid. I'm sure he'll open up after he gets—"

"Alright, fine. Jesus Christ." The woman sighed. "But just so you know, I'm doing this for Elijah. I want him to have a father, unlike that other fucked up kid. This is not about you. I won't ever forgive you for what you did. I'll be gone as soon as Elijah is old enough."

The last thing Gavin heard was steps, a door being shut, and silence.

The woman's words rang in his head like a song playing on repeat.

Fucked up.

Was he? Was he like that? 

Gavin bit his lip and looked at his hands, trying to understand. Understand what exactly he had done wrong in all of this. He hadn't said anything bad, had he? That's why he avoided saying anything to begin with. He hadn't been mean to anyone either. 

Then why didn't any of them like him? Why was his father faking smiles, and Molly straight up sneering at him?

He balled his hands into fists, then slowly unclenched them, letting the pressure subside. Maybe he really was like that. Broken.

That would explain why his mother had so easily agreed to letting him go. That's why Molly didn't like him. That's why his father faked smiles.

Stifling a whimper, Gavin sniffled and wiped his nose with the back of his hand, curling into a fetal position on the bed, pulling the blanket entirely over his head. He didn't want to cry. He didn't want to cry, he already knew from his mother how much he failed at keeping his emotions in check, and how pathetic crying made him, but he still gave in. 

Was there anything even remotely good about him? He wasn't good at school, he didn't have friends, hell, even his own mother didn't love him enough to want to keep him.

He was nothing but-

"Are you crying?" 

Gavin moved away the blanket just enough to peek out from underneath it, seeing Elijah's face hanging upside down from the bunk bed, the boy's hair bending under the influence of gravity, causing Elijah to look as if he had a mohawk. A look of pure curiosity was on the boy's face—no trace of mockery.

Yet Gavin still found himself assuming a defensive stance.

"No." Gavin answered with just a trace of indignation, rushing to wipe his nose and eyes again.

"I used to cry a lot too when they first started fighting." The mattress shifted, and Gavin realized Elijah had climbed down from the top of the bunkbed and seated himself cross-leggedly on his. "But I...don't think it's worth it. They kinda do it every night."

"Really?" Gavin was finally brave enough to pull down his blanket entirely, exposing his face.

"Yeah." Elijah confirmed. "Especially when mom found out dad had another son."

Gavin purposefully avoided his half-brother's gaze. He was the reason Elijah's parents had started fighting? That bit of information felt like a boulder in his stomach, something he couldn't and didn't want to digest.

"But you know what? I think it's pretty cool." Elijah added after a few seconds. "That I have a brother. You, I mean."

"Really?"

"Yeah." He nodded his head. "Kinda like Phineas and Ferb. Or the teenage mutant ninja turtles! It's always cooler if you have a brother."

"Okay so, if we were Phineas and Ferb, who would be who?" Gavin asked.

"Hmm. I'd be Phineas." Elijah decided matter-of-factly. "Because I wanna be an inventor someday."

"No fair, Ferb's lame!"

"Yeah, but his green hair is pretty cool."

"Point taken."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m thinking about making a second part to this about Gavin’s teenagehood. Should I?


	18. Keeping homes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gavin and Elijah realize that they can only get through the hardships of teenagehood together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second part to the child!Gavin fic. Enjoy, and please note that this takes place 7 years after the events of the previous chapter.

Gavin felt the cold temperature of Elijah's sigh on the back of his hand, flinching when his brother pressed ice to his knuckles again.

"You won't be able to write your chemistry homework like this." He finally spoke up, breaking the silence, nimble hands working to bandage Gavin's knuckles as painlessly as possible. "You should stop getting into fights, Gav."

"And you should quit letting every fucking maggot beat you up." Gavin answered and took another tissue from the pile on their kitchen table, wiping his busted nose with it again, scoffing in disgust at the blood on it. "Seriously. Fight back for once."

"And get sent to the principal's office every two days like you do?" His brother chuckled. "No thanks."

"That happens because I always protect you." Gavin retorted. "It's not my fucking fault the entire school despises you."

"Well it's not my fault that I got placed in eleventh grade because of my highly above average results." Elijah shrugged, then looked up at Gavin through his lashes, seemingly satisfied with the work on his brother's knuckles and pulled away the ice pack.

"Weird flex but okay." Gavin grinned.

Elijah sighed. "Stop quoting memes."

"Stop being a stuck-up bitch, then, Eli." Gavin answered, playful sarcasm practically dripping off his sentence. "Come on, chill. You up for some PUBG?"

"Don't think you're in the position to play PUBG, much less go anywhere near your computer before you manage to pass chemistry this semester." The self-satisfied, well-concealed smirk was still unmissable for someone who knew Elijah as well as Gavin did.

"Asshole." He answered playfully.

"Retard."

"Your mom's a hoe." The boy shot back cheekily.

"We have the same mother, dumbass."

"No we don't." He answered, yet his voice had turned rather...quiet, in comparison to his fiery, playful tone from not more than a few seconds ago.

"Not this again." He could literally feel the suppressed anger just from his brother's way of spitting out the words. That was the main difference between them. Elijah internalized almost every single emotion, while Gavin didn't bother bottling them up, and instead let them explode, going with the (admittedly irrational) instructions he could make up out of his rage.

But Elijah was something else. The boy never used fists or physical violence to let out his anger. His rage was like poison seeping through a small cut before infecting everything in its path. Gavin knew that—knew Elijah. Better than anyone else. He knew how much his brother disliked the fact that he still hadn't accepted Molly as his mother. "She's done more for you than that whore, and you know it."

That was enough to make Gavin practically explode with anger. The chair squeaked against the floor as he stood up, slamming his hands down on the kitchen table. "You don't fucking get to talk about her like that."

"You always claim telling the truth is the best thing to do. So why not accept the truth about Emilia?"

"You're a fucking piece of shit, Elijah Kamski, and I hope you know that." Gavin clenched his hands into fists, then added. "It's our first year of highschool and everyone hates us already."

"Correction, the third for me."

"Correction, everyone hates you."

For less than a millisecond, he saw Elijah's eyes glisten almost hurtfully, just the way they had when they were younger and he had hurt himself falling down from a tree. Gavin knew that look, and that it meant he had struck a nerve.

Elijah drew in a shaky breath. "You're just as unlikable as me." The utter nonchalance in his words was...absolutely maddening. Such a simple, yet well-placed insult was all it took for the boy to bite his lip in frustration, blood boiling with anger.

"Fuck you!" Gavin snapped, and spun on his heels, stomping out of the kitchen. 

"Where are you going?" His brother shouted after him, yet didn't bother getting up. 

"None of your fucking business." Gavin answered over the rustling of leather as he slipped on his dark brown jacket.

"Okay. What do I tell mom if she asks?"

"That she should fuck off."

—

Apparently straying around on the streets of Detroit after 10pm wasn't exactly a great idea. Gavin had picked up a fight with two other boys, and had—to put it lightly—bitten off more than he could chew.

He was nearly passed out on the edge of the sidewalk, previously bleeding lip now busted open, his left eye painfully swollen purple and green. The skin on his knuckles wasn't even red anymore—it was pure flesh and bone at this point. He's received a few kicks to his abdomen minutes ago, and the aftermath is still very much there, like a boulder in his stomach, painfully clenched.

Gavin coulf feel the cold of the asphalt seep into his bones, but he didn't bother getting up until it actually started raining. He found himself a nearby bench, at let himself fall on it, tilting head back as soon as he did. The cold air of the December evening combined with the icy raindrops that would have supposedly been snowflakes if not for the few degrees above 32 Fahrenheit somewhat soothed the burning ache of his injuries—especially the ones on his face.

He started wondering when exactly he should show up at home and finally decided against any planning. It's not like any of them cared to begin with. Except for Eli, he supposed, but then again, he decided he didn't need his brother's pity.

Gavin sighed, chin tipped backwards, watching his breath form little clouds in front of his mouth and nose before it ascended into the starry sky, disappearing for good.

This peace and quiet, in spite of his current state, felt...nice. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back further, exposing his neck to the cold air, a shiver running down his spine.

"I should've known."

The boy flinched at the sound of a familiar voice—extremely similar to his own. 

Elijah.

His scrawny frame was standing beside the bench Gavin was laying on, scarf wrapped around his neck, reaching up to his pale nose, which had saturated with red from the temperature. He had shoved his hands in his pockets, and seemed to have tucked something under his left arm, but Gavin couldn't be sure. His vision kept blurring, especially on the left side, where he could literally feel his eyelid swelling from a previously received punch.

"Should've known what?" Gavin asked, looking at his half-brother sheepishly. He already knew Elijah was going to avoid the question. The blue eyed boy always avoided talking about his thoughts and such, yet had the unfortunate habit of thinking out loud sometimes.

Gavin flinched when something was thrown at him, landing in his lap: a thick feather jacket and a red scarf.

"Figured you might be cold since you only took your leather jacket." His brother changed the subject. "Who'd you get into a fight with?"

"Dunno, two dudes I saw glaring at me." Gavin explained halfheartedly, only then realizing how strangled his voice sounded. He rushed to put on the scarf, as well as the spare jacket. He saw the blood from his chin smear on the scarf, but ignored it. "How'd you find me?"

"Your phone. You had your location turned on."

"Oh."

"Yup."

The only thing Gavin could hear was the distant rumble of a car engine, as well as his own pulse thumping against his temples and other injuries. "Well." He began. "Now that you've done your job as a brother, you can go home."

"Not in the mood. Dad got drunk and mom is pissed."

Gavin chuckled, the air unpleasantly rushing out of his throat as he had done so, morphing into a cough. He took a deep breath of the cold air, and finally looked up at Elijah. He was fully aware that out of the two of them, his brother was a master at blending out things, especially their parents. He was sure he must've had another motive. "You know that's not the real reason."

Elijah bit his lip, them puffed air into his cheeks, clouds forming in front of his lips. "Didn't feel right to leave you like this."

"Since when does the overly rational Elijah Kamski listen to his feelings?"

"Humor me and believe I'm telling the truth, Gav."

Gavin slid down one leg from the bench, creating space for his brother, which he then patted. "Humor me and sit down, then."

Elijah laughed through his nose. "At 1 in the morning on a dimly lit street?"

"Well going home is out of question, so yeah."

Gavin didn't bother looking at his brother to know he had already sat down beside him, their knees bumping against each-other. For a few minutes, they listened to the other's breaths, looking up at the slightly cloudy night sky, enjoying the feeling of the small raindrops on their skin.

"Do you really think I'm that horrible?" Gavin spoke up suddenly, yet didn't look at Elijah. He felt his brother tense beside him.

"Well, you're my only form of protection in the entire school, not to mention very useful as a human shield, so driving you away would be suicide."

"There he is again, the soulless genius." Gavin laughed through his nose.

"I'm joking." His brother paused and bit the inside of his cheek as he thought. "What I meant to say was that...I think you're alright. Fuck that, you're my brother and my only friend, you're more than that."

Gavin couldn't help but smile at Elijah's words, slowly opening his eyes to peek at him, then added in a monotone, robotic voice:

"Achievement unlocked: Gavin will now die for you."

The both of them chuckled at the half-assed, admittedly horrible joke.

"For now I'll just need him to go home. And preferably not get into another fight on the way there." Elijah said, rising to his feet, nodding for Gavin to follow.

"You know I hate making promises." Gavin grinned, teeth glistening in the moonlight almost wolfishly, contrasted by the blood on his lips and chin. "But I might make an exception for my brother, I guess."


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gavin finds an Android on the streets.

He hates the damn things, and everyone is fully aware of it. He's fully aware of it.

Gavin hates Androids.

Despises them. Detests them. Abominates, execrates, loathes.

Yet he can't get himself to walk away from the pile of garbage bags a few blocks away from his apartment complex. A pile of garbage on which a broken Android lays.

Her— No, its, its lower jaw is missing, mouth agape, wires flooding out of her head, body nothing but a loose almost branch-like structure that lightly resembles a humanoid shape. The Android's eyes are ripped open in fear, the expression frozen into her broken, yet strangely pretty face. Gavin doesn't know what to make of it.

He only knows he's subconsciously sliding his hand into the back pocket of his jeans, pulling out his phone, skimming through the contacts, until he finds the familiar number with an even familiar title.

God Complex ™

Before he even realizes it, he's already pressing his phone to his ear, listening to the obnoxious beeps, praying his brother would answer.

—

"Can't you just buy yourself an Android like normal people instead of plucking one of the streets?" His brother's hands are smeared in Thirium and he has his glasses on instead of his contacts, looking over their rim when he analyzes a certain biocomponent more closely. Elijah grunts in annoyance when something doesn't work out the way he wants it to and wipes off the blue liquid on his jeans.

"I don't like Androids." Gavin spits back, leaning against the doorframe, closely watching Elijah's every move. Damnit, Gavin's cat, has opted to rub herself up against his brother's legs instead of his, and Gavin can almost feel himself getting jealous.

Almost.

If it weren't for the body of an Android laying on his living room couch, its stomach pried open for his brother to repair the components, staining the brown couch with blue, creating black spots.

Gavin almost feels worried about it. No, not worried. Worried is the wrong word.

Interested in what is happening to it, he calls it.

"Then why'd you call me in at 10 in the evening to fix one for you?" His brother pauses and looks at Gavin through his glasses, smiling up at him slyly. "You could've just left it in the garbage where you found it."

"Shut up and get to work."

"Thanks for the coffee, by the way." Elijah lightly pushes the empty cup set on the floor towards Gavin with his foot. "Get me another."

"I'm not your fucking housemaid."

"Well I'm not your personal mechanic either, but here we are." Elijah smirks at Gavin before connecting two wires, then getting to work on another section in the machine's abdomen.

Gavin sees himself obligated to do it, and picks up the cup from the floor, yet stops to watch Elijah's nimble hands work over the wires and blinking lights in the Android's abdomen as if they were specifically made for it. "What're you doing to her?"

"Her?" Elijah looks at his brother over his shoulder and grins.

"It." Gavin corrects himself.

"Whatever you say." He hears Elijah snicker, but doesn't comment, instead continues to watch him. "I'm fixing her self-diagnostic system at the moment. Though I'll need to get you some spare legs and arms from my house, these won't do. Not to mention a spare jaw."

Gavin nods, in spite of knowing the other man can't see it. A few seconds of silence, accompanied by the sound of clicking buttons and wires follow.

"What do you think happened to it?" Gavin asks, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. 

"Again, since when do you care?"

"I don't care."

"Says the guy that rescued a cat off the street, and now an Android too, apparently." Elijah sucks in a breath and stops for a few seconds, reassessing the labyrinth of wires and blue blood vessels. Gavin can only guess Elijah encountered some sort of problem along the way. "Where's my coffee?"

"Prick."

"Love you too, brother dear."

—

Elijah's been gone for almost thirty minutes now, and it's already past 2 AM. Yet Gavin's still awake, cup of already cold coffee in his lap as he sits on the carpet, watching the machine on his living room couch in awe.

It almost looks alive—its chest rises and falls every few seconds, imitating human breaths to perfection, eyes peacefully closed, peaceful expression on her face. If there's one thing that comes to mind when Gavin looks at her, it's sleeping beauty.

He's conflicted as to why exactly he feels so drawn to this...thing. All he knows is that he's the one who found it, and sheltered it. He's responsible for it—he's decided that the moment he saw the thing thrown in the dumpster.

Gavin feels Damnit rub up against him, and feels tempted to compare the encounter with this...thing to the day he's found Damnit. But he knows it's different. Deep inside, he really does.

Because whatever the hell is laying on his living room couch right now is not alive. It can't feel anything. His cat on the other hand, can. So why'd he even bother dragging this pile of plastic garbage home?

He bites his lip and stands up from the floor. Why the hell was he sitting on the floor? Letting a tin can take over his couch? What the hell?

He scoffs, leaning down to scratch Damnit behind her ear before trotting into the kitchen to wash his cup.

He turns on the water tap and instinctively starts reflecting about what exactly he was doing.

Bringing an Android into his house? A goddamn job stealer, one of his brother's shitty inventions, the very creations that haunted his late teenagehood. Yet why hadn't he been able to bring himself to leave it there, in the garbage? Why had he not only brought her—it, brought it into his home but also stepped over his own boundaries and pride and asked his brother for help?

What was he even going to do with the thing once Elijah would bring in all the necessary spare pieces and bring her into working order?

Gavin dries off the cup of coffee once he's washed it, and stores away into one of his cabinets, then returns into the living room.

He glances at the Android on his couch once more, scoffing, not entirely sure wether it was at himself or it, then turns off the light with an almost bark-like "G'night."

Why'd he say that?

—

"Done." Elijah states proudly while slipping off his glasses. He looks at the machine with satisfaction and sits back in the cheap chair Gavin has provided him with.

The green-eyed man is even more excited than Elijah is, dropping down to his knees beside the couch, stopping to take in the Android before glancing at his brother. "Turn it on, then."

"You're welcome." Elijah says with a superior smirk, and Gavin mutters a half-assed 'thank you'. "It should turn on in a few minutes max. It seems to be an older model."

Elijah strides over to Gavin's coffee table and takes a tissue, wiping his hands on it before professionally throwing it across the room, into the trash.

"Too bad you didn't pursue your career as a basketball player." Gavin jokes and Elijah snickers.

"A shame, really." His brother responds before making his way out of the room, smiling at Gavin once more. "Have fun with your new toy."

"Shut up, I'm selling it."

"It's an old model, you won't really be making any money off of it." Elijah shrugged while slipping on his jacket. "Though I couldn't exactly tell what model. Only that it's layout is old."

"Don't care." 

"You know you do."

"Fuck off." Gavin snaps back at Elijah, and the blue-eyed man raises his palms up in submission. 

"I've got a meeting to attend to, so that's exactly what I'll be doing."

"Great." Gavin crosses his arms over his chest, leaning against the wall beside the front door. "See you."

"See you." Elijah nods curtly and steps towards the exit, only to be stopped by Gavin, who visibly swallows.

"Hey, uh, one more thing."

"Yes?"

"What if it doesn't wake up?"

"Aren't you adorable, getting all worried about one of my creations."

"Never mind, leave." Gavin places his hands on his brother's back, and pushes him outside his apartment. Elijah only chuckles and looks back at Gavin over his shoulder when he's outside.

"Have some faith in my handiwork. Oh, and Gav? Get it some clothes, it looks horrible in that ripped uniform." He adds nonchalantly and walks down the stairs, out of the apartment complex.

Gavin stays in the doorway, face burning up with both anger and embarrassment for a few more seconds before he remembers what he's supposed to do. Look out for that piece of plastic, right.

It should be waking up soon, correct?

—

It's been twenty minutes now, and if Gavin is to be completely honest, he's starting to lose 'faith in his brother's handiwork'.

The thing on his couch is still very much asleep (or whatever the right term for lying down with its eyes closed is). Gavin's clueless, and he starts pacing around the couch restlessly. Damnit is kind enough as to rub up against his legs in an attempt to soothe him, and he realizes his cat is somewhat right. Why's he getting all worked up about plastic?

Nothing but an assemblage of wires, buttons, processors and Thirium. An overpriced piece of garbage. A soulless imitation of hum-

When that pretty thing opens her eyes, his mind goes blank. All thought and reason is lost, and for a few seconds of her confusedly staring at him and Gavin cluelessly staring back at the Android, silence plagues the room.

He doesn't know what to say.

Neither does she.

Instead, the Android sits up defensively, cowering away from him.

"Hey. I— I'm Gavin." He's almost embarrassed by how soft his voice sounds. Almost, because he realizes it also helps her—it! He furrows his brows fractionally, which however is still enough to further the Android's state of alertness. With all the emotion in her eyes, Gavin can't help but think if this...machine he's plucked off the streets wasn't thrown out because of deviancy. She tries to stand up, but ultimately fails, stumbling forward until she collapses onto the floor. Gavin concludes it must be because of the spare legs Elijah has given her. What if they're not compatible? "I'm not gonna hurt you." He adds, and forgets for a split second that he's talking to a machine. "So get up now."

She obeys—a residue of the instinct she's been programmed with, and struggles to rise back to her feet, propping herself up against the wall.

"What model are you?" Gavin questions, and he sees her brows furrow before she stares down at the floor, as if she were trying to recall something from a distant memory.

"I—" She begins, and her voice falters before she faintly adds: "I don't know."

"The fuck kind of Android are you then?"

He instantly regrets his harsh words, but doesn't exteriorize it.

"I'm sorry." She whispers back, then looks down at herself, then at Gavin. "Did you...did you do this?"

"What?"

"Did you fix me?"

He nods his head from side to side, pondering his answer. "Yeah and no."

She's not exactly satisfied with the answer—Gavin can tell that much, but she's smart enough not to go any further.

"Do you have a name?" He continues.

"I—"

"Don't know, okay." Gavin interrupts her, and again, regrets it. "Pick one."

"I do remember actually."

"Well then."

"(Y/n)."

"(Y/n). Pretty." Gavin chokes on his words, realizing what he's just said, then rushes to add. "Pretty horrible."

"You can change it. Let me access my-"

"Keep it." He insists, and steadily approaches her, then nods at her shaking legs. "Sit down."

"I have no need for re-"

"Sit. Down." He insists and gently grabs her forearm, guiding her back to his couch. "Your legs are shaking."

"It must be a malfunction, they're not entirely compatible to my model, as far as I can tell." (Y/n) explains.

"So do you know what model you are?"

"The name's been corrupted, but I can still tell what's compatible and what isn't."

"I see." Gavin furrows his brows and makes a mental note of giving Elijah another call. Speaking of Elijah and his (terrible) advice. "Do you want any clothes or somethin'?" He nodds at her ripped Android uniform, and she rushes to shake her head.

"Androids aren't permitted to wea-"

"You're a deviant, aren't you?"

(Y/n)'s hands clench into fists as she sets them in her lap and avoids his gaze.

"I'm not...I'm not sure."

"It's a yes or no situation."

Gavin can hear her fans whir louder for just a second before she finally nods reluctantly. "It was the motive behind my disposal, so yes."

"Some idiot threw you out because you started havin' feelings?" He laughs through his nose. "How stupid."

"Of me or my owner?"

That's enough to cut Gavin's chuckle off.

Shit.

"Your owner." Gavin rushes to say. "Bet he thinks he's so clever because he thrashed you and threw you out, doesn't he?"

"It was a she." (Y/n) corrects. "And my memory drive tells me she had a child. She was afraid I might...hurt it."

"Good thing I don't have a kid." Gavin smiles, gently this time, then looks down at his cat, who's carefully approaching (y/n). "Except for Damnit, but that's a different story."

"Damnit?" (Y/n) looks up at him from the couch and tilts her head curiously. Shit, Gavin's positive he's never seen something quite this...adorable before. "Isn't that a—"

"Swearword. It's a long story." He explains quickly, then watches (y/n) as she carefully leans down to cup Damnit's face. The cat seems to be a bit reluctant at first—mainly because of an Android's lack of natural scent, he can only guess, but his pet does end up bumping her nose against the top of the Android's palm and purring. He's starting to suspect his cat is becoming intentionally traitorous at this point.

"She's very cute." (Y/n) decides and smiles, and Gavin is absolutely positive he's never seen anything more beautiful.

"Stay here, I'll get you a change of clothes."

"But I-"

"My house, my rules." He insists and gestures at her dirty, ripped dress. "That shit looks both uncomfortable and thrashed."

Before the Android can even say anything else, he's already bolting out of the living room, towards his bedroom.

A few minutes later, he's back, clean and neatly folded T-Shirt and sweatpants in his hands. He throws them at her, watching them land in her lap. "Change." He demands, then leaves the room. He turns around to close the door behind himself, and almost pisses his pants when he realizes (y/n) is standing right behind him.

"I wanted to thank you." She begins, legs still trembling as she props herself against the door and the doorframe. "For finding me, and getting me in working order, and the clothes and...everything else."

Gavin can feel his face saturating, yet is pleased to realize his voice doesn't contain a trace of his inner embarrassment when he smiles softly and answers with a halfhearted but well-meaning: "You're welcome."


	20. Fatherhood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which gavin gets to know the ups and downs of fatherhood.

Gavin wasn't what most people would call "good with kids". Sure, he did't hate them, but he did't exactly love them either. They're loud, they're messy, they're annoying, and, in his opinion, a big inconvenience as a whole.

He's babysat before, the kids of one of your friends if he remembers correctly, but that was about where his experience in the parenting domain ended.

Until he found out you were pregnant.

Gavin remembered that moment oh-so-clearly. The moment you'd told him the news. First came disbelief, then excitement, thumping against his chest along to the rhythm of his heart, and finally, fear.

It was almost inexistent at first.

A little twist in his gut, but all in all, ignorable. Quizzical. Small.

But it grew.

As time passed and your due date inched closer and closer, Gavin found himself clutching books about parenting, staying up until late at night to read them and make sure he comprehended every single word, sentence, and hidden meaning.

He wanted to do it right.

Gavin knew what it felt like to be unwanted by one's own parents, to ache for affection, and most of all, to feel as if there's something wrong with oneself. It was indescribable, it was terrifying, it was draining.

And he knew he did not want his kid to feel that way, ever.

He'd heard it before. Fucked up parents raised fucked up kids, and the vicious cycle repeated itself to no end. Yet he was: willing to face the odds, no matter how small, and do at least one thing right in his whole life.

"Gavin." 

He sucked in a breath when he heard you call his name, and glanced at the clock on your bedroom wall. He felt you wrap your fingers around his forearm, which finally drew his attention to you.

"It's late." He whispered and reluctantly closed the book in his lap, setting it on his nightstand before shifting closer to you. "Aren't you tired, darling?"

"Aren't you tired as well?" You took his calloused, big hands in yours and placed them on your face. Gavin gently brushed his thumbs over your cheekbones, then placed a fragile kiss on the bridge of your nose. He was positive he'd never seen someone this effortlessly captivating as you. Eye bags below your eyes, dry, chapped lips, messy hair, yet still so fucking beautiful. If your child would actually take after you more than him, he'd be very much alright with that.

"I'm not allowed to be tired." He answered firmly, palms trailing down from your face and to your neck and collarbone, lovingly feeling every single patch of your soft skin. "Not when...Not when I'm on the verge of becoming a father."

"You're still very much human, Gav." You smiled and reached up to run your hand through his hair, stopping on his nape, where you scratched the back of his head softly. "Don't stress. You're gonna be a great dad."

He laughed through his nose and looked away, avoiding your gaze. "It's so dumb."

You furrowed your brows and tilted your head. "What is?"

"That you're the one being pregnant and going through so much shit and still...you're the one keeping your cool. It's so dumb of me."

You giggled and blinked away the tiredness from your eyes. "I screamed at you yesterday for not buying eggs so...not necessarily."

"It was kinda funny to be honest." Gavin chuckled puerilely, receiving a light, playful slap against his clothed chest.

"You ass."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He raised his palms up in submission, and bit his lip to hold in a lugh. "You shouldn't swear in front of the baby, though."

"I don't think it can hear us." You huffed in amusement, then trailed your hands over your stomach. Gavin's soon followed, even more gentle than usual, tracing the bump that was slowly but surely starting to form. 

"I've read that they can, actually. Roughly after the 30th week." He stated. "It's how they identify their parents after they're born."

"Great, you'll just need to whisper 'phck' to it the first time you hold it and it'll know it's you."

Your husband snickered in response. "Guess so."

—

"Congratulations! You're gonna have twins."

Gavin choked on his own spit, yet was careful enough to turn away from you when he coughed.

You sat up on the hospital bed and gently pat his back, then looked at the obstetrician doctor once more, then back at Gavin, who seemed to be having some sort of existential criss as he stared at the white tile floor.

One child was already overwhelming, but two? Oh God, he was never going to get raising two children at once right. How would he even be able to dedicate his entire attention to two kids at the same time? Where would they even sleep? There was only one baby bed. Fuck, he needed to save up for another one. He needed to buy more clothes. Read up twice as much. He was never going to make it.

He realized he'd been quiet for quite some time. So had been (y/n).

"Twins?" Gavin asked, finally managing to get a hold of himself. "That's uh...wow. Wow."

"I understand how it can be overwhelming, but rest assured that two children mean twice as much joy."

"Yeah." Gavin nodded and visibly swallowed, his hands set on the edge of your hospital bed clenching into fists.

His breath hitched when you brushed your fingers over his, then squeezed them gently. An unspoken promise was concealed in your actions, yet something he caught onto quickly.

It's going to be alright.

—

He was terrified in every single sense of the word. Completely, utterly terrified.

There's been complications, he knew that much, but everything else, every other explanation had just flown by him without a sound. He could't understand.

All he knew was that he wanted to help, to be there, to fix it, goddamnit, but he couldn't do anything but sit in the almost empty waiting room and do exactly what the name implied.

Wait.

He kept glancing at the clock on the wall every few seconds, then at his phone, to make sure none of them were timed wrongly. They weren't.

Yet time seemed almost solid, like a boulder that just wouldn't move already, and that was what Gavin found to be almost as exasperating as his helplessness. He glanced at the clock again.

9:41 PM.

Exactly two hours since he started waiting.

He returned to his Facebook app and refreshed the feed, only to realize he knew almost every post by heart already. Shit.

Should he go ask for an update? Or would that just cause an inconvenience? He wanted all focus to be on you and your kids making it out of there safe, but at the same time, he was dying to know if you were alright.

"Mr Reed? Is there a Mr Reed?"

He stood up so fast, that his chair literally tipped over and fell to its left.

Gavin couldn't be bothered to care. All that mattered was you. And the kids.

"Yes?"

"This way, please."

He scrambled after the nurse, barely tripping over the doorframe, rushing after her as quickly as he could.

"Is she alright?" He asked, catching up with her.

"Your wife?" The nurse asked and smiled. "Yes, she should be waking up soon. I'm guessing you'd like to see her and the kids?"

"Yes!" Gavin responded, perhaps a bit too straightforwardly, and composed himself just as quickly. "Yes, please."

His heart was literally a hammer, drumming against his sternum wildly, icy hot adrenaline rushing through him as he hurried down white hallways that smelled cuttingly of disinfectant.

When he really did finally reach the room you were in, he hesitated.

Just for a millisecond, not more and not less. He twisted the doorknob, and stepped inside.

"Hey." You whispered as if this was the most mundane situation in the whole world, and Gavin would've laughed at your nonchalance if it wouldn't have been for the two little babies, peacefully asleep, cradled in your arms.

"Hey." He whispered back, because his thoughts began racing far too quickly for him to come up with something better. Reluctantly, he approached the hospital bed, dropping down to his knees next to it. With a tired smile, you watched him as he reached out to take the child that was closest to him in his arms.

Gavin stared at it speechlessly: This being, not bigger than his goddamn forearm, this bread loaf sized human he was holding at that very moment was nothing but his and your creation.   This child, his child— his children—

"Holy shit." He whispered, then looked at you with the biggest, most wondrous grin you'd ever seen on his face. 

"Holy shit what?" You snickered, watching Gavin as he propped up the child against his chest, behaving as if it were made out of the most fragile porcelain to ever exist as he pulled up a chair for himself. Careful not to make a noise, he seated himself on it, shifting closer to you. Biting his lip to stifle another blissful grin, the detective reached out to cup the other child's face, then yours.

"It's just that they're...they're so—"

Little. Defenseless. Adorable. Perfect.

He didn't know what to say. There was too much he wanted to get out, and too little of the necessary clear-mindedness to express it. The only thing he knew was that he was ready to do whatever it would take to see the little thing in his arms, as well as the one in yours grow into people even better than himself.


	21. Family Dinners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gavin asks you to pretend to be his girlfriend for a family Thanksgiving dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Personally I don't celebrate Thanksgiving, but I do believe a lot of you probably are, so here's a little something to set the somewhat Christmassy mood. Happy Thanksgiving!

What he's doing at that very moment is desperate, and he's fully aware of it. Fully aware of how pathetic he must look, sound, and fully aware of how pathetic he feels.

But he knows those feelings will presumably increase by a tenfold if he doesn't do this now. He cannot take it—not even one more mocking glance from Elijah, nor one sneer from Molly.

He's had enough.

Gavin is bringing someone with him to his Thanksgiving family dinner, in spite of the fact that he's nowhere near close to being in a relationship with anyone.

So here he is: clutching his phone, chewing the inside of his cheek as he waits—prays, even—for her, (y/n), to answer.

She's his best friend at the precinct and his best bet too.

The beeping on the other line stops abruptly, and is followed suit by rustling. "Gavin?" 

"Yeah, hi." He answers, admittedly somewhat softly, then corrects himself by clearing his throat. "I need a favor."

"At two in the morning?"

Shit, he hadn't realized it's this late already.

"Yeah." Gavin answers with the same firmness in his voice. "Well, not right now, but- I wanted to ask. Ask something."

"Well, you've already woken me up, so go for it, I guess."

Why is he feeling guilty? She owes him something after that one time he saved her from a bullet. Which was roughly two years ago, but he supposes it still counts. Or at least hopes so.

"I need you to pretend to be my girlfriend. For a Thanksgiving dinner with my family."

He picks up on another rustle on the other line, which sounds deceivingly similar to a sigh. She seems to ponder his words for a few more seconds and gives him an answer he hadn't exactly hoped for.

"That's just sad, Gavin."

"Fuck you."

"Okay, sorry." Another tired sigh. He can almost hear her frowning through the phone. "Tell me."

"About?"

"The family dinner. What's it gonna be? Restaurant? Your parents' house? Formal? Casual? Is the food gonna be good?"

"The last question is oddly specific."

"There's a lot of things I'd do for a good meal, Gav."

"Well, I mean, yeah, Mol's a good cook."

"Mol? Is that-"

"Stepmom." He interrupts, not really wanting to deal with explaining his tear-jerking past to (y/n). "So is that a yes or a no?"

"It's a yes, Jesus Christ. But you owe me."

"Wrong. Remember that one time in 2036 when I-"

"One more word about the shooting incident and I'll hang up."

He laughs through his nose. Maybe him and her wouldn't actually make such a bad pair. With some surprise, he realizes he's never actually thought of (y/n) in that way before. But maybe, just maybe it c-

No. She's his best friend. This is a once in a lifetime event where he pretends she's more, but that's going to be the end of it. Workplace relationships always turn out awkward, especially after breakups. A risk he's not willing to take.

"So is that a yes or a no?"

"The things that I do for you, Reed, I swear to God. It's a yes."

"Great! I mean, uh, good. Good." He clears his throat awkwardly.

Silence settles over the phone call again, and Gavin flinches when he feels Damnit rub up against his legs.

"I'd very much like to go to sleep now." (Y/n) speaks up with a chuckle.

"Yeah, you do that." He says, and accompanies his statement with a quick nod, without realizing that (y/n) can't see it.

"Goodnight." She whispers.

"G'night. Oh, and (y/n)?" Before Gavin can say anything else, the call had already been ended.

Well. He shouldn't have gotten his hopes up anyways.

—

He's tapping his fingers against the steering wheel to the rhythm of the song on the radio, and he almost feels like he's 18 again, waiting to pick up the girl he had asked out for grad prom. Only that this isn't grad prom.

This is a family dinner, and he's waiting in front of your home, watching the snowflakes on his windshield melt one by one.

He reaches for his phone to make sure that this really is the address you've supplied him with, until he sees something in his peripheral vision move. Something that isn't snow.

Gavin looks up, and almost jumps out of his seat when he sees someone knocking on the passenger seat window, but calms down as soon as he recognizes your features.

He unlocks the car, and you gladly plop inside, bringing some snowflakes and a bit of cold air with you.

"Hey." You greet breathlessly, and he can't help but think how adorable you look with some snow caught in your hair.

"Hey. You cold?"

"Nono, it's fine. I underestimated the weather a bit, but it doesn't matter. Let's go, we have to be there by 7:30, right?"

He shakes his invading thoughts out of his head. Thoughts that whisper how nice you look with the simple eyeliner and nude-colored eyeshadow you have on. Alluringly minimalistic.

"Yeah." He answers and pries his gaze off of you, focusing on the road. "Their place is not far though. Like 10 minutes with decent traffic."

"We should come up with a compelling background story." She speaks up, and Gavin wants to question what exactly she means before it hits him. They're supposed to be dating.

"Well, we work at the same place, so that solves it."

"Guess so."

—

"You never told me your parents were millionaires."

Gavin swallows visibly, then reluctantly speaks up. "They're uh...We're not, um— My brother is very successful."

"You never told me about that either." She answers.

"Let's just go."

He sees her shrug and pull the jacket tighter around herself before unlocking the door and stepping out of the car. Gavin follows suit, and stumbles after her, managing to not only catch up but reach the front door faster than she does.

He knocks on it, once, twice, and hopes she won't notice the impatient tapping of his foot. She does.

"Gavin, chill. We got this."

He wants to answer with a smile, but is cut off by the door opening. Gavin meets eyes with the person he least expects, yet somehow entirely expects.

"You're five minutes late." His brother's icy gaze rests on him, and Gavin realizes that from the angle the door is open in, Elijah isn't able to see (y/n). And that his brother has that joking, playful undertone in his voice.

"Let's be fair here, five minutes isn't that long."

"It is."

"I really pity whoever's in a relationship with you, then."

Elijah laughs through his nose and shakes his head. "Likewise." His brother the door fully, moving to step away before stopping abruptly, his blue eyes fixating on (y/n) in what seems to be nothing but surprise and curiosity. She can only reciprocate the sentiment, or so it seems to Gavin.

"You brought someone. Huh."

It's only been a few seconds of awkward silence, but Gavin decides he wants nothing more than to put an end to it.

"(Y/n), Elijah, Elijah, (y/n)." Gavin hurries with his words, not bothering to even glance at (y/n)'s shaken up expression, then takes her by the arm and pulls her inside with him. Elijah is smart enough to take a few steps back and give them some space to shuck off their overcoats.

(Y/n) isn't moving, however staring at Gavin's brother in wide wonder.

"Wait, Elijah, as in Elijah Kamski?" She asks with a tilt of your head, and the man approves with a nod before Gavin can.

"You didn't tell me you had someone." Elijah ignores her astonishment with trained quizzicalness and shifts to look at his brother and tilt his head.

"Because it's none of your business."

"You didn't tell me Elijah Kamski was your brother either." She chimes in.

"Half-brother." Both of them say at the same time.

"Oh, right. The last name. Figures."

"Precisely, sergeant." (Y/n) jumps at the sound of a sweet feminine voice. Accompanied by Tristan, Gavin's father, and Molly, his stepmother, a thin, lithe figure dressed in a pretty, navy blue skirt and a white button down shirt tucked inside it appears.

Chloe.

"And you brought your machines." Gavin concludes with concealed annoyance which however doesn't go by unnoticed by his brother and (y/n).

"We both did things we wouldn't have seen happening last year, haven't we? I've brought Chloe, you've brought a special someone. But to be fair, you are quite the shocker this year."

"Fuck off."

"Good to see you haven't changed." The man in the corner of the room speaks up, and approaches to shake Gavin's hand. The detective reciprocates, then looks at (y/n) with a smile.

"(Y/n), my dad, Tristan. Tristan, (y/n)."

"It's very nice to meet you, sir." She's perfect at what she's doing, Gavin realizes: (y/n)'s altered her voice to sound sweet enough to rival Chloe, and he's quite sure he's never seen someone act this open around his family.

He looks at the man hopefully, and bites back a grin when he sees his father nod at (y/n) as he tells her something that Gavin doesn't bother understanding. All he cares about is that his father seems, for once, impressed.

"You're five minutes late."

He knows the voice, knows it far too well. His gut twists as Gavin glances at the one person he most loathes seeing: Molly.

"What a great way to say hello." Gavin answers on the same, sharp tone and squares his shoulders. His eyes meet Molly's stormy blue ones, and he can almost feel his blood boiling in his veins. "Could've at least tried to be nice for Thanksgiving, but some things never change, huh?"

His stepmother sucks in a breath to answer, however is interrupted by a voice so soft, that Gavin almost fails to recognize it. Almost.

"Gav." He suppresses a nervous hitch of his breath when (y/n) wraps her hands around his forearm. Gavin can't help but think it's strangely...calming to have some sort of contact. Something that reminds him that not every single person in this room is an absolute asshole like Molly. "Would you mind introducing us?"

"(Y/n), this is Molly, my father's wife."

She initiates a handshake, smiling warmly at his stepmother. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mol-"

"Dinner's ready." The woman says plainly, ignoring (y/n) and spinning on her heels, walking away, presumably into the kitchen. Elijah and Chloe follow suit, the two of them chatting something under their breaths with smiles on their faces.

Gavin hears a discouraged, whispered "Well." as (y/n) lets go of his arm. If he is to be honest, he'd rather she didn't break the contact, but he avoids saying anything about it.

—

"Would it be unfitting of me to ask how the two of you met?" Chloe asks, and Gavin stops in the midst of scooping mashed potatoes onto his plate.

Gavin guesses her question must've been an attempt at filling the silence at the dinner table, and while he does appreciate it, he wishes she wouldn't have asked.

"We're working at the same precinct." (Y/n) answers coolly, and Gavin is very much thankful for it.

"I thought you said you didn't want workplace relationships." Elijah chimes in, not even looking up from his plate. Gavin is however entirely sure that there's a smirk growing on his face—and he's able to tell by nothing but his brother's voice.

"And I thought you weren't going to bring your fucking terminators with you."

"And I thought you'd make an effort to show up on time, Gavin, but here we are." Molly bites back, and Elijah only watches silently as the tension grows. Typical for his fucking brother—he just wants to watch the world burn and have a good time while he's at it too.

"This is getting childish." Gavin's father speaks up, and Molly immediately switches to glare at him as well.

"You know what's actually childish, Tristan Kamski? The fact that you-"

"Oh, fuck this." Gavin pushed his chair back and stands up. "Fuck all of you."

In the blink of an eye, he's already disappeared from the kitchen, stomping into the hallway, unlocking the door, and getting out of the house.

"I'll go get him." Elijah says and languidly rises to his feet as well, however is stopped by Molly. 

"Stop always assuming responsibility for him." She says. "You're nothing more than-"

"I'll do it. Excuse me for a second." (Y/n) speaks up and is faster to rise and dart out of the room then Elijah. Seconds later, she hears a chair being scooted back towards the table, and assumes he's sat back down. 

On her way to the front door, she glances at the clothes hanger, realizing that Gavin hasn't taken his jacket with him. She shakes her head with a smile at his childishness, puts on her coat, then tucks his under her arm and steps outside.

She almost trips over Gavin, and realizes he's sat down on the stairs, steam that can't possibly be caused by the temperature and his breath steaming from between his lips.

Indeed, as she moves to sit down beside him, the smell of cigarette smoke invades her nostrils.

"You okay?" (Y/n) asks carefully, and Gavin exhales another bitter breath of cigarette smoke, then looks at her.

"Yeah. Just—" Gavin bites his lip and grunts. Explaining it is probably pointless. Why would (y/n) care? "Nothing."

"I brought you this." He feels her drape his jacket over his shoulders, then pet them gently. "And you should stop smoking."

He brings the cigarette up to his lips and looks down at her with a cheeky, prideful smile.

He doesn't expect her to snatch it from between his fingers and flick it into the snow.

"Hey, what the fuck, it was my last one!"

"If you think I'm about to keep watching you destroy yourself, you're wrong."

He's speechless, doesn't know exactly what (y/n) is implying, but he knows it makes him feel a bit warmer inside. Someone does care. At least a little bit.

"Thanks, I guess." He mumbles and slithers his arms inside his jacket, then zips it up. "For the jacket or whatever."

"Nothing to thank me for." He can almost swear he sees her smile, but the moment he dares to actually look at her face, her expression is neutral. "Why do you even go to your family dinners? I mean—correct me if I'm wrong but, you don't really seem to like being around them."

Gavin stares at the ground, which is already covered in snow even more than when they arrived. He has no idea. He has no answer to (y/n)'s question. "I don't know. I don't know why I bother."

"Then just stop bothering."

It's so simple that he doesn't know why hasn't thought of it before.

"Unless you do want to go back in there. In which case I'll stick around."

"Fuck no. I— I'm so done with all of this."

"Oh, good, I thought I was the only one. I mean— No offense to you, but your mom reminds me of my old math teacher and is, quite frankly, terrifying and annoying at the same time."

Gavin chuckles. "No offense taken."

"Come on then." She rises to her feet and holds out her hand for Gavin to take. He hesitates, but still ends up doing it, realizing with some surprise that (y/n) is still warm—or at least warmer than him. 

"Where do you want to go?"

"A walk?" (Y/n) shrugs and smiles goofily. "It's the last thing they're probably expecting us to do."

"Alright, yeah. Let's do that."

—

It's obvious neither him nor (y/n) have thought this through entirely. It's much colder than they expected, which causes them to walk close to one-another and seek the other's warmth. Though Gavin can't say he doesn't like it. In fact—it's nice to know there's someone by his side. And that her shoulder is bumping against his with every step they take, and that her hand is in his, warm and soft.

It's nice. It's the only word Gavin can think of to describe this. A fragile, quiet and simplistic kind of bliss.

"Hey Gav?"

He cocks a brow when (y/n) interrupts the silence, and the moment he looks down at her, he has to hold himself back from not kissing her then and there. Her nose and cheeks are tinted with red, snowflakes are caught in her lashes and hair, her lips are parted and saturated.

He hums questioningly.

"Would it be okay if I asked about...I don't know, your whole family situation? You don't have to answer if you don't want to, I'm just curious."

He sighs and furrows his brows. "Do you think now is a good time for my tragic backstory?"

(Y/n) looks around at the empty streets and closed shops, as well as the snow below their feet, wich used to be a muddy slush but has now frozen fully. "Kind of, yeah."

Gavin's lips turn into a tight line as he things. "Me and Elijah have the same dad, but I guess you figured that out by yourself. Molly is his biological mother, but not mine. My dad, Tristan, got drunk one night when she was pregnant, or so he claims. He decided to have some fun, and met my mom, who used to work as an escort back in the day to make some extra cash to pay for student debt and...shit like that. The condom broke, so there you have it. The Kamskis decided to take me in when I was like eight and my mom was already pretty much fucked up, so talk about bad timing." He laughs awkwardly, and hopes he didn't come off as overly...invested. He realizes it must've been kind of stupid of him to tell (y/n) all of this. She probably didn't even want to hear it.

There goes another friendship with the potential of being something more.

"That's...huh." (Y/n) looks at him, then moves to stare down at the floor. "Huh. I didn't think you'd actually tell me."

"You pretended to be my girlfriend and didn't even get to finish the meal you came for, so I kinda owe you this." 

She grins childishly, laughs through her nose, then gives his hand a squeeze.

"Hey, speaking of meals. I'm hungry."

"You read my mind."

"But every shop's closed." (Y/n) answers.

"Well I'm not going back to my parents' place."

"Wasn't planning on suggesting it either." (Y/n) bites her lip, and Gavin could only watch as she did, and silently wish he could do that.

What the hell is he thinking?

He'd said it himself. Workplace relationships are awkward. He shouldn't get his hopes up.

You tug on his sleeve. "What about a 24/7 store? There should be one around." Looking this beautiful while being out in the cold and discussing 24/7 stores should be illegal. Yet she is still doing it.

"Alright." He nods and ignores the rumbling, warm feeling in his stomach. "Let's look for one."

—

The neon light is almost blinding, but then again, Gavin supposed, it helped them actually find it.

"Shit, wait." (Y/n) speaks up, and Gavin suppresses a groan of annoyance because it still is rather cold outside and he'd rather enter the shop and spend some time in a place that was at least wind-proof.

Instead, he hums questioningly.

"I don't have my wallet with me, damnit. I— Do you have any money? I'll pay you back on Monday at the precinct, I pro-"

Gavin interrupts her by patting down his own pockets, and biting his lip in annoyance before shaking his head. "Fuck, must've left it in the car."

"Ah, damnit." (Y/n) pinches the bridge of her nose, then stuffs her hands in the pockets of her flimsy jacket, her eyes suddenly growing wide. "Oh my god."

"What?"

"Loose change!" (Y/n) exclaims and pulls out a few coins and a crumbled bill, holding them out as if they were the most precious find in the history of human kind. "Check your jacket too, maybe we can both contribute."

Without further ado, Gavin flips the pockets of his jacket inside out, and is surprised to see that there is quite a decent amount of coins pouring out onto the snowy ground.

"Yes!" (Y/n) exclaims and crouches down at the same time as Gavin, both of their foreheads bumping against each-other.

"Shit, sorry." Gavin reaches up to his own forehead and smiles giddily at her. "You okay?"

She laughs through her nose, little clouds of steam forming in front of her face. "Of course."

"Okay, good. It'd be shitty to hurt you."

Why did he say that.

Why did he say that. The sentence sounds dumb enough to come from the mouth of a four year old, not from a full-fledged cop's. There goes his chance of ever having a normal human conversation with you ever again.

(Y/n) only snickers, then looks down at the spilled coins and bills, and starts picking them up. Gavin joins in, hoping to ease her work at least a little bit before the both of them stand up, however with more precaution this time.

(Y/n) brings her hands together, then looks at him. "Put all the coins here, and then we'll count them by moving each one into your hands."

Gavin cocks a brow at her methods but agrees nonetheless and pours all the coins into her palm before taking them one my one and adding the numbers in his head.

The result? "Three dollars and thirty cents."

"Perfect. Let's see what we can buy from that."

She grabs his hand which he isn't using to hold the money and guides him into the dimly lit 24/7 shop.

Gavin is more than glad to feel the warmth of the shop, in spite of the air being very much stagnant and used.

"You know what I could go for? One of those already made sandwiches in the freezer aisle."

"As long as it's not more than three dollars and thirty cents, I'm okay with your choice."

"Great."

—

(Y/n) holds the squared plastic packaging with shaky hands as she peels away the plastic foil.

"Let's not like...get any snow on it."

"It's just frozen water."

"And water makes bread horrible."

"No it doesn't."

"If you're that kind of person that puts water and bread in a blender I will strangle you."

"Sounds entertaining but no thanks. I'd like to eat first."

"Great. Let's split the sandwich first." She takes it out of it's packaging and grits her teeth when she tries ripping it in two somewhat equal pieces but instead ends up getting sauce on her hands. "Damnit."

"You know I could just like eat half of it and then let you eat the other half instead of this."

"Sprinkle some herpes in there while you're at it."

Gavin snorts in amusement at her words. "Look at that, I thought I was the only asshole here."

"That's where you're wrong, Reed." (Y/n) chuckles and does eventually manage to rip the sandwich in two somewhat symmetrical pieces. Gavin notices that she gives him the slightly bigger piece and has to hold back a smile. "Bon apetit."

He takes the snack from her and brings it up to his mouth, greedily taking a bite out of it, only to stop mid-chew and scrunch up his face in disdain. "Oh Jesus, the meat in this tastes like someone fried cardboard."

"It is pretty disgusting."

"Yeah." Gavin answers with his mouth full, and forces himself to swallow down the food, which his stomach still seems thankful for. "But you know what, I'd take this over my Thanksgiving family dinners any day."

"Don't see how a shitty three dollar sandwich and eating it outside in a snowfall is better than sitting inside and eating mashed potatoes and turkey, but alright." (Y/n) avoids his gaze and instead focuses on her half of the snack.

"It's because of the company...I guess." Gavin shrugs and takes another bite as well. He almost stumbles backwards from surprise when he sees her look up at him suggestively through her snowflake-covered lashes.

"What's that supposed to mean."

"You're pretty...alright to be around." He stutters out and focuses back on the excuse for food in his hands, rushing to take another bite from it. To his distaste, he realizes that it has in fact turned a bit mushy and that (y/n) was right about it being disgusting.

"Is 'pretty alright' the reason you asked me to pretend to be your girlfriend?"

Saying that he chokes on his food is an understatement. Yet he still forces himself to swallow the piece of bread, as well as the copious amounts of air that would normally make him break out into a coughing fit, and opts to instead defend his pride.

"What, no! Fuck, don't just go—... Don't just go interpreting stuff like that. You're fine, but that's it." He hopes she can't see through his lies.

"Aw, that's a shame then." She makes those puppy eyes— She knows what she's doing, Gavin is absolutely certain of it. "Since you refuse to tell the truth, I will."

He doesn't know if he's absolutely terrified or positively surprised at her words, but he's sure it's one of the most intense feelings he's felt in a while.

"I really liked this Thanksgiving. Instead of sitting at home and singing Christmas carols by myself, I got to spend it with someone. With you. And yeah, while your family was a bit terrifying, I've got to admit that all of this was fun, Gavin. It really was. I liked it. I like y-"

His brain is practically screaming at him to stop, but he doesn't. He has no idea what exactly he's doing except for the fact that he's taking a quick step closer to (y/n) and smashing his lips against hers in a hungry manner. There's no such thing as even thinking about his family anymore, nor about how he messed up again, nor about wether he should go back or not. All that he knows and that really is there is her lips, and the tingling in the pit of his stomach, and the utter weightlessness, and her.

Oh God, her. (Y/n).

What the fuck is he doing?

He pulls back immediately and sees little clouds form between their faces as the both of them breathe quickly.

"I dropped my sandwich, damnit!" (Y/n) pretends to be upset, and for a fraction of a second, Gavin does believe it.

"Shit, sorry, I—"

"I was joking, Gav." She laughs through her nose and he feels the breath she just exhaled tickle the bridge of his nose and his cheeks. (Y/n) closes the centimetrical distance between them and rests her forehead against Gavin's. "Talk about a snack after Thanksgiving dinner, huh?"

"So I— This...is fine?" He asks, and she blinks slowly, then smiles.

"It's pretty alright, actually."


	22. (Little to) no strings attached

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which you and Gavin are friends with benefits.
> 
> Includes mature content!

He sinks his teeth into the juncture of your shoulder, unapologetically, hungrily sucking on the skin as his hands roam your body, searching, aching for more contact, any kind of contact. 

Gavin hears you purr out his name, barely audible, muffled by one of the pillows on his bed. It's meant for only one person, but he doesn't mind, because of two good reasons. First: it's an excuse to hold you even closer, and second, it leaves no room to hide. Absolutely none. And that gives him the power rush he loves oh-so much—because to him, you're a mystery, a riddle he can't even dream to wrap his head around. Yet when you're there on his bed, sprawled out, with him between your legs, for just a second, he feels like he's solved it. Like he's found every answer, like he knows every curve and nook and cranny and sound and glance and word. Like he knows you. But he doesn't.

And that's exactly what drives him insane.

"Shit..." Gavin mutters against the nape of your neck. His iron grip on your hip twitches, falters for just a second before it returns with unmatched force, just like his next thrust. He sets his other hand on the wall in front of the both of you as he slows his pace and takes a deep breath. He pulls out, slowly, even tentatively gently, though he'd never admit it. Never admit he's feeling anything but unadulterated lust at that moment, but he is. There's something else mixing with the itching desire, something he doesn't bother distilling nor analyzing, simply because it seems far too...complicated to bother with at that moment. So he pays no mind to the warmth that's not only in his lower abdomen, but chest as well, and tenses. His muscles ripple under his skin as he gives another forceful thrust that has you mewling his name in bliss.

He can't hold back a prideful, shit-eating grin, fully aware of just how good he's making you feel. Gavin dips down his head just enough to place a kiss between your shoulder blades, then uses the hand he was holding your hips in place with to instead lift them up in the slightest. He doesn't exactly know why, but he has the sudden, eager urge to please even more, to see you writhing under him from the overflowing amounts of bliss he drowns you with.

You're his to take, and to his pleasure.

"Up." Gavin's demand is quick, yet spoken in an unusually soft manner as he gives another thrust. He taps his fingers against your lower abdomen to give further instructions to what exactly he wants, and you're more than eager to comply. Your head dips lower into the pillow, elbows and forearms digging into the mattress as you lift your ass up. Just what he asked for. "Good." Gavin places another kiss on your lower back, a garnish to his praise.

You smile at him over your shoulder in turn, almost dreamily. Your gazes connect for a few seconds, and you get overwhelmed by the sudden desire to pepper his neck and face with kisses. Why exactly are you thinking about showing affection to your fuckbuddy? You can't tell. You don't know, and you don't want to know. Because after all, it doesn't matter. You're using him, he's using you, and it's a mutual, contorted kind of pseudo-love. Pseudo-lust.

Feelings don't matter, neither yours, nor his.

The only thing that counts is that at the end of the day, the both of you are a little less lonely, even if it's all pretend.

You can work with falsity. Very well, in fact. That's the last thing on your mind before your thoughts flood with pleasure. Gavin's found a special spot inside you, and has observantly noticed that it makes your legs go weak and moans bubble up in your throat.

So he hits it again, more boldly this time. 

"Feel good?" He asks smugly, in spite of being fully aware of the answer. You suppose he's looking for a little ego boost, and want to give a snarky answer, but he's quicker, shutting you up with your own moans when he reaches down between your legs. He finds the special spot expertly, as if he were playing an instrument he knows every single secret of, and touches it just right. 

There's no such thing as thoughts or personal philosophies anymore. All that's left is you, him, and the pleasure he spoils you with.

You fist the bed linen, losing your mind in the rhythm of his hips clashing against yours, brutally yet affectionately, egoistically greedy, yet oh-so-eager to please. You can't put your finger on it, but there's a certain contradiction in Gavin's every action—addictive.

"Fuck..." He moans lowly against your back when you twitch around him. Another string of half-spoken, low-effort swearwords and broken moans spills from him and he realizes he's close.

Droplets of sweat roll down his temple as he doubles his efforts. He's eager to take you with him when he falls over the edge, and you're thankful for that. For that strange kind of altruism. Or his want to get the job done right.

"Gavin...!" You sob in nothing but ecstasy as your mind fogs up. Everything is a blur of white sheets and glistening skin, his chest glued to your back, so flush you can feel his heart hammering wildly, his forehead rested against your left shoulder blade. 

Sex with Gavin is something messy, sloppy, but ecstatic. It's why you always come back to him, looking for more—because it always leaves you greedy for more. That addictive, delicious satisfaction he gives you is never enough, and you guess it never will be. But it doesn't matter. He's more than willing give so much you fear it breaks you. 

The warmth inside you turns into a fire, an itch, something tight and hot and needy. Your thoughts are like water seeping through the spaces between your fingers. You can't process them, and in a few seconds, they're all gone anyways. 

"Say my n-name again..." Thrust. "Say it." His voice breaks for only a second, but his demand is just as firm. Gavin almost loses balance when you twitch around him, so he settles one hand right beside your head, on the pillow.

"Gavin. Oh fuck, Gavin." Your breathy voice works like magic on his lust-infused brain. His hips stutter mid-thrust. He lets out a feral, animalistic moan, and surrenders to the pleasure, to the feeling of your soft, hot, velvet walls around him, to the waves of pleasure crashing over him again, and again, and again.

You brush your hand over the one he's set on your pillow, squeezing it when you come undone, entire body pulsating with pleasure. You screaming out his name one last time and holding onto him for dear life is enough to tip Gavin over the edge as well.

"Shit, (y/n), I love y-" With a broken moan spilling from his lips and breaking the sentence, he lets go, giving one last, faltering thrust to your pulsating core.

It feels like he's drowning in something sickeningly sweet, flooding his lungs, his mind, rushing through him like an electric current. He tenses, every single cell in his body seemingly on fire, bursting with unmatched hotness and tension.

Gavin's frame quivers against yours when he pulls out, giving your thighs an affectionate squeeze.

He crashes down onto his bed, realizing with quite some enthusiasm that it smells like you. The mattress shifts when you stand up and make your way over to the middle of his bedroom, where you pick up the clothes you'd discarded about half an hour ago, and start slipping them on.

Already running away, how typical.

He's tried stopping you before, but he knows it's of no use.

"Hey, can you open the window?" Gavin asks, looking up at you while he lays on his stomach, left half of his face sunken into the pillow. 

You roll your eyes at him while you put on your bra. "You said you'd quit."

Gavin shrugs and lazily reaches for the lighter and pack of cigarettes on his nightstand. He sits up, resting his back against the wall, flinching at its temperature. Still, he holds your gaze in an almost provoking manner as he takes a cigarette from the box, holds it up to his lips and lights it up. "And you said you'd stay after sex, but here we are."

You scoff and saunter over to the window, opening it before slipping on your shirt. "Asshole." 

"Liar." He responds with a smirk, then takes a drag of the cigarette. The smoke fills his lungs, bitter and soothing.

You don't answer to that. Instead, you stay silent and slip on your jeans, wiggling your butt to make them sit properly. Gavin can't complain and watches with a smirk.

There it is again. You've returned to being a mystery, and the bitter realization that he hasn't even come one step closer to solving it hits him. Ever since you started doing this whole friends with benefits thing, he hasn't. 

It's almost...bitter. Gavin's never been to keen on investing emotions in, well, about anything, but there's just...something enticing about you. Something enticing he fears will one day consume him, regardless of what he does.

He consoles himself with the thought that while it may have not been a success, there's many more times of this to come. The unadulterated, yet temporary pleasure is more than enough. Who needs the shitshow that feelings are anyways? He doesn't, and he's sure you don't either—it's why you both agreed to this after all.

"Did you mean that?" You ask suddenly, hand resting on the doorknob. He notices you've almost broken your previous record of getting dressed in less than one minute. You're getting better at running away.

Gavin cocks a brow. "Mean what?"

"That 'I love you' part at the end." You smirk at him. "It was so cheesy."

It feels like a punch to the gut. A metaphorical one, but nonetheless, a punch.

Did he mean it? 

He's not the kind of person to throw around words (unless they're swearwords). He's not the kind of person to show affection through phrases. Scratch that, he's not the kind of person to show affection in general.

Then what— Why did he...

Shit. He doesn't know. He honestly doesn't.

"Heat of the moment." Gavin blurts out the best excuse he can come up with. You tilt your head and smirk lopsidedly, and holy shit, he thinks you look gorgeous like that. You stride over to him, snatching the cig from between his fingers. You take a drag from it as well, frowning a tad at the bitter taste, then flick it out the window.

"I sure do hope so. Remember, no strings attached." You smile one last time then get out of the room almost soundlessly. Gavin is left sitting on his bed, elbows on his thighs, empty pack of cigarettes lazily hanging from between his fingers as he stares at the wall.

No strings attached.

Though one can't really hurt, right?


	23. Terrified

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by the lovely @thedragonkween on tumblr, who chose the letter n from the angst alphabet.
> 
> N-Need, How would they react if you needed emergency surgery?
> 
> I apologize in advance.

Gavin reaches for the cigarette pack in the pocket of his leather jacket, hand trembling, breath stuttering. He fishes it out, looks at it. Looks at his bloodstained hands. Stained with your blood. 

The mental image of the bullet wound in your abdomen flashes before his eyes, engrained in his mind, his thoughts. He remembers the phone he had desperately tucked between his shoulder and cheek, and how desperately he had pressed the gushing injury, and the blood that wouldn’t stop flowing.

He clenches his fist around the cigarette pack. Can’t believe that this little box was what he once considered capable of providing him with emotional relief. Smiles ironically, bitterly, feels the knot in his throat form. Tells himself to breathe. Just breathe. In, out.

He wants to open the pack, but realizes that he’s crumbled up the cheap combination of plastic and cardboard along with its contents. Gavin cusses, but only a fragile, whimper-like sound that barely alludes to a swearword leaves his mouth. It’s the only thing the knot in his throat allows.

Truth be told, he’s scared—no, he’s fucking terrified. Terrified of what might happen to you, of the damage you’ll take from this. From doing your goddamn job.

He takes out one of the broken cigarettes and tries bending it back into place, but eventually gives up. It was stupid to believe that this would help when you are, quite literally, somewhere in the huge hospital he’s standing in front of. In one of the hundreds of operation rooms, maybe bleeding out on the table, or becoming paralyzed from the waist down, or worse. He’s seen it all. In his colleagues, friends, and for the first time, he doesn’t want to know what the future holds. Just wants to go back and change everything. Change the fact that you woke him up with kisses that morning, that the two of you were, for once, on time for work, that you got assigned that damned fucking case, that he let you go investigate first.

“Mister Reed?” 

The feminine voice rips him put of his thoughts, almost knocks him off his feet. Gavin realizes entire body is frozen with cold, and that there’s snow on his shoulders and hair. The woman standing in front of him wears a white coat, and looks at him with an unreadable expression.

“Yeah. How—” He stutters, takes a deep breath. “How is my fiancée?”

“Would you like to sit down first?”


	24. Christmas morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which you spend the morning of Christmas eve in with Gavin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas! Regardless of wether you celebrate it or not, I've decided to write this out as a present to all of you. Enjoy♥️

You wake up to colors bombarding your eyesight even behind closed lids, each and every one blinking for just a second before the next one follows. There's shuffling and rustling going on in your apartment, and you can smell coffee. Your back aches a bit, and you realize that, to your distaste, you're sleeping on the couch. And the space behind you is strangely empty.

You groan and bite your lip, blinking away the fatigue in your eyes.

Your entire living room is bathed in a storm of ever-changing harlequin lights, coming from a spot right beside your tv.

Oh god, you think, a Christmas tree. A mostly naked Christmas tree that's only decorated with blinking LED lights, and Gavin sitting on the floor beside it, cross legged, working on untangling the next decoration. But still. A Christmas tree that most definitely wasn't there when you fell asleep on the couch yesterday.

Gavin looks in your direction when the sofa creaks, and his concentrated expression shifts into a soft one, lopsided smile on his face.

"Mornin'." Gavin greets, and you can't help but notice how disheveled he looks. His hair is a mess, just like yours, and he's still in last night's clothes. Yet there's a softness to his features: in spite of his grogginess, he looks well-rested. There's two cups of coffee beside him, set on the floor.

"Good morning." You greet back, and lift yourself off the couch, walking over to him. "You got—"

"A Christmas tree. You said you wanted one, but you were still asleep and today's the twenty-fourth, so I figured..." Gavin smiles in the most genuine way you've seen in a while—you can almost call it childish. There's a certain pure excitement and bliss in his eyes. He doesn't bother getting up from the floor, instead pats it invitingly. "I also made us coffee."

You settle down beside him, looking at the tangled wires in his lap, and then at the cup he hands you. You take it, and realize that the liquid has gone a bit cold, but you don't complain. "Thanks, Gav."

Instead, you turn to look at the Christmas tree, shadows and lights bouncing off your features the moment a smile spreads on your lips. It's positively beautiful. Even all empty and natural like that, its leaves give off the fresh, familiar scent that only lacks a hint of cookies for it to really smell like Christmas.

"Do you like it?" He asks hopefully, and you take a sip of the lukewarm coffee before answering with a smile.

"Yes." You're practically beaming, and Gavin is sure he's never seen something quite this heartwarming. Homely. Pretty. "I love it, Gav."

He bites his lower lip to refrain from grinning in utter, peaceful joy. This is what heaven must feel like. A quiet winter morning with the one you love. You crawl closer to him, cuddling up against his side. He reaches for your hand and takes it in his, then rests them on his thigh before intertwining your fingers. Nestled up against each-other, the both of you switch to staring at the Christmas tree in silence. Which reminds you.

"You said you didn't like Christmas, though." You speak up, and feel his shoulder bump against the side of your temple when he shrugs.

"Yeah, but you do." 

You raise your brows in disbelief. "So is this all for me, or-"

"It is." Gavin sighs, though you can't tell wether it's because of something negative or positive. "Though I didn't manage to get it done before you woke up." He nods at the still tangled decorations in his lap.

"But I like decorating." You answer. "So I don't mind."

His brows furrow while he looks down at you. "Really? You like decorating Christmas trees?" 

"Yes...?"

"Sounds like a bit of a lie but alright." 

"What, did no-one in your family like doing that?"

"Jesus Christ, no." He chuckles and reaches to play with the sleeve of your shirt while he seems to get lost in his thoughts. You draw little patters on the skin of his forearm to accompany his thoughtful fidgeting. "Mol hated it, I hated it, Eli had better things to do, and Tristan couldn't be bothered. There was one time when me and Eli just put our presents for each-other under one of Molly's potted plants and called it a day. Probably the best Christmas in the Kamski household if you ask me. Well, the most quiet one, even though in Mol's opinion, apparently" He pitches his voice up an octave to imitate the voice of his step mother. "'Gavin was probably the one that came up with this disrespectful idea and should be ashamed'."

The both of you laugh through your noses.

"Maybe we can do that next year." You suggest, continuing with the patterns on his skin, chuckling when you see goosebumps form on his arm. "Or whenever you feel like it. Seems like a pretty original idea if you ask me."

Gavin snickers. "And you?"

"I'll be just fine without a big ass tree, don't worry." You trail the loving patterns up into the palm of his hand, where you trace the little creases inside it. "But now that we do have one, let's decorate it."

Languidly, you rise to your feet, and nod for Gavin to follow. He groans childishly, and instead lets himself fall on his back.

"Gav." You say through a laugh. "Get up."

He sighs and looks at you with a smirk, eyes hooded and brows raised. "Make me."

Gavin hooks his hands behind the back of his neck, and stretches out. His muscles stretch under the loose black shirt he's wearing, and it slips, revealing the lower part of his abdomen. There's a shit-eating grin on his lips you're practically dying to kiss off.

You trap his waist between your thighs and set your hands on his forearms. Your face is close enough for you to feel his breath against your lips. Strands of hair hang down from your head, framing your face and ticking his forehead.

Gavin laughs—blissfully, quietly. It's almost as if he doesn't want to let out the warmth bubbling up inside his chest, for this moment to end. Ever.

He frees his arms from your gentle grips, and places your palms in his, above his head, then intertwines your fingers. Gavin continues moving them further away from the two of you, and he has the advantage of his arms being longer than yours, which causes you to end up chest to chest with him, having nowhere else to prop yoursef up.

He snickers wolfishly when you finally give in and tuck your head under his chin.

There's a few seconds of blissful silence, during which Gavin frees his hands from yours, wrapping one around your frame and running the other through your hair. "So I'll take it you like it? The Christmas tree." It's more of a statement than a question, but you hear the silent, well-concealed want for approval hidden behind the sentence.

"Of course." You wrap your legs around his hips, and nuzzle into the palm he sets on your cheek. "It's perfect, Gavin. Thank you." You kiss his wrist, skin calloused against your soft, tender lips. There's a little blush settling on his cheeks, however he doesn't bother hiding it. 

"I'm glad, then." Gavin is practically beaming with pride and affection. The hand set on your waist drifts down tentatively, over your butt, stopping on your thigh. "What do you want to do?" He squeezes the flesh. Your fiancé's voice goes a tad deeper, raspier. God, what was he doing to you? "We have the whole day at our disposal, after all."

You're tempted to give in. Almost too tempted, but you still decide to mess with him.

"We could bake cookies for starters." You say, devilish smirk playing on your lips. His disappointed frown makes guilt settle in your stomach, so you settle for a compromise. "Or just...lay here for a little while."

There's a short, light pause in which Gavin taps his fingers against your thigh while he thinks. "Fuck it, let's do that." He finally agrees, and takes a deep breath—enough to make your head comfortably settled on it rise—then closes his eyes. You nuzzle up against his neck, peppering small, lazy kisses on every bit of skin you come across. 

Gavin tenses below you, grip on your thighs growing stronger before he bursts into a chuckle. Music to your ears.

You look up to see his features painted in the colors of the Christmas lights. Ever-changing and restless, they highlight the tip of his nose and that happy, blissful grin he wears only for you to see. And when he finally opens his eyes to look at you, you swear there's an entire color spectrum caught in his irises. 

"Thank you for this, Gavin." Your hand brushes over his jaw, his cheek, and his lower lip, tracing along his smile. "Everything."

"Glad you like it." He answers, grip on your thighs sliding up to your hips before flipping you over, so that he was on top of you. Gavin leans down, mouth close to your ear, and whispers a tentative, husky: "Because I'm nowhere near done with spoiling you."

You smirk, burying your hand in his hair, matching your tone with his. "Oh really?"

"Yeah." Gavin places a kiss on your jaw then sits up as if nothing had happened. He pats your thighs, then nonchalantly adds with a not too well-concealed shit-eating grin: "So, cookies?"


End file.
